


Check

by QueenCamellia



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: BAMF Grey, BAMF Lizzy, F/M, Watchdog!Lizzy, alive!Rachel, alive!Vincent, badass Midfords, no Ciels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCamellia/pseuds/QueenCamellia
Summary: “Ciel Phantomhive” never existed. In the male-dominated Victorian society, Elizabeth Midford teams up with her fiance, Charles Grey, to tackle the numerous challenges she must face as the future Queen’s Watchdog.[Watchdog!Lizzy, no Ciels, alive!Rachel and Vincent, badass Midfords.][mixture of the anime and manga timeline]





	1. Her Fiance, Stubborn

**Author's Note:**

> Meet my OTP. Meet Watchdog Lizzy. Meet adorable Rachel Phantomhive.  
> This will be a long fic.   
> Keep in mind this is a world without Ciels! And, possibly, without Sebastian. Thus, our lovely humans are on their own. (Then again, they have Vincent's badass support.)

“Elizabeth.”

“Aunt Rachel,” Lizzy acknowledged, standing up and curtsying. Her voice was solemn as she observed her beautiful aunt carefully. Rachel had dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of her skin frighteningly contrasting with the drab midnight blue shade of her clothing. Her aunt’s dreary garb reflected her grim mood.

Carefully, Lizzy approached the woman, gently setting a hand on her aunt’s shoulder. Inwardly, she thanked herself for acquiescing to Nina’s demands of wearing high heels. Lizzy wasn’t tall enough yet to reach her aunt without the additional inch her shoes provided her. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” Rachel admitted, sinking into the seat Lizzy previously occupied. “It’s just so...so _frightening_ , the recent murders going around. Vincent’s been investigating them closely, but he hasn’t been able to find any leads, yet. He keeps assuring me that the murderer has been killing women so far, but I have an ominous feeling about this whole mess.”

“Everything will be fine,” Lizzy reassured her. “You know Uncle Vincent. He can detect poison just by sight and senses danger at the drop of a hat. He’ll catch Jack the Ripper before you know it.”

“I know, but there’s just something about this case,” Rachel said hopelessly, then she paused and sent her niece a suspicious glare. “Elizabeth...you seem awfully calm about this. Usually you’re bouncing all over the place asking Vincent to help.”

Lizzy froze, the smile on her face twitching.

_Act cool, smile innocently, relax your shoulders..._

“I don’t know what exactly you’re insinuating, Aunt Rachel, but I assure you that I’m not interfering with Uncle Vincent’s investigations,” Lizzy recovered smoothly.

Rachel caught on quickly, as expected of the wife of the Queen’s Watchdog. “But are you conducting _additional_ investigations?”

Lizzy remained silent.

“Elizabeth,” Rachel sighed, standing and wrapping her arms around her niece to pull her in for an embrace. Caressing Lizzy’s golden locks, she said gently, “You know, I consider you as practically my own daughter. I know that Vincent and Francis have been training you to inherit his role, but you don’t understand, darling. I would’ve preferred you not be involved in this business at all. It’s not something that somebody like you should deal with, but it’s not in my place to decide your future...”

“It’s like you said, Aunt Rachel,” Lizzy pointed out, determined. Aunt Rachel withdrew her embrace, although she still clutched onto Lizzy’s arms like a lifeline. “I’ve been training my entire life for this. I’m willing, and I’m able. As a female, there are places that Uncle Vincent can’t investigate that I can. You’ve seen me in the fencing halls.”

“Real life isn’t the same as fencing, Lizzy.” Although the usage of her nickname stirred some affection within the blonde, Lizzy was too focused on the matter at hand to care. “You’re thirteen, Lizzy,” Rachel said desperately, her grip on Lizzy’s arm tightening. “Don’t you see? You should be dancing and squealing over boys, not learning how to kill a man.”

Rachel, unlike her strict mother and expectant uncle, had always treated Lizzy like the young girl she was. Her kind and amiable nature usually warmed her heart, but also was a hard obstacle to overcome when it came to being treated as an adult. Despite her age, Lizzy _wasn’t_ like the other thirteen year old girls her age; she was a _warrior_ , born and bred to fight and advance.

The only other relative who treated her as delicately as Rachel was Aunt Anne, Aunt Rachel’s sister. Lizzy hadn’t seen her beloved red-clad aunt for a couple of months, but in her last visit, “Madame Red” still acted just as indulgent and easygoing as she did in the past.

Neither of the two women truly understood the rigors of baring the Phantomhive name - or, at least being _trained_ to hold the Phantomhive name one day. In their eyes, they still saw little Lizzy, the blonde girl with the ridiculous curls in her hair that continuously asked if she could have a cousin to play with. That little girl was gone; Lizzy had buried her once the results of Rachel’s barrenness had come to light and her mother informed her that she would have to take up the mantle of the Phantomhive household once Uncle Vincent was unable.

Little Lizzy had protested, she remembered. She wanted to be _girly_ , to fall in love and learn how to sew and cook for a husband rather than learn the quickest ways to incapacitate a man. Then her mother had taken her aside.

 _“Lizzy,”_ Francis had said, her eyes unusually soft as she hugged her tiny, frail daughter. _“The tasks you must do as the Queen’s Watchdog will be hard. It will be rough, and you will sometimes wish for a better fate. I could tell you many things to convince you; the job of a Watchdog is necessary to ensure peace, you would be protecting the citizens of England, you are doing us all an honor. But none of those are what I want you to know. You, Lizzy, are strong. And there’s no other woman I’d rather have taking over the Phantomhive household than my other herself. And Claudia Phantomhive…”_

 _“...was a strong warrior,”_ little Lizzy had finished instinctively, eyes sparkling with a naive hope. _“Mama, why can’t Edward do it? He’s strong too.”_

_“Edward...his duty is to maintain the Midford line. And although your brother is extremely talented for his age, I’m not sure he’ll be able to...handle things well, especially on his own.”_

Little Lizzy had nodded her head in understanding. Her big brother was too kind, too pure, too _gentle_ . He would undoubtedly accept the position if it meant protecting his sister, but...maybe this way, Lizzy could protect her big brother too. _“Then I’ll be the Queen’s Watchdog,_ ” she decided, _“for Edward’s sake!”_

Francis had given her a sad, small smile. _“You, my dear, are much too selfless. But you will not be alone; this I promise you. You’ll never be alone, Elizabeth.”_

“Aunt Rachel, I’ve been raised by two of the most skilled fencers in England. I’ve learned fencing and espionage from my mother, and coding and shooting from my father,” Lizzy stated, steadfast. Her emerald green eyes were trained firmly on her aunt’s. “I’ve learned how to discern concealed weapons in seconds and how to incapacitate a grown man without making a sound. Giggling over boys isn’t quite that appealing to me, anymore.”

She added more wryly, “Besides, by now I find that dancing without weapons is dreadfully dull.”

Rachel’s lips turned upwards at that, despite the somber topic. “You’ve always made swordplay look like such an art form,” she said ruefully, squeezing Lizzy’s arm playfully. Unconsciously, a weight lifted off Lizzy’s shoulders; this was her aunt’s way of expressing her (reluctant) consent. The atmosphere now jovial, she found her eyes dancing with mirth.

“It _is_ an art,” Lizzy insisted feverently, a smile tugging on her own lips. “It’s not my fault that some people fight so boorishly. It’s quite pitiful to see how the number of young fencers nowadays is dwindling. It’s been ages since I’ve properly dueled with anybody proficient around my age.”

“You know,” Rachel said thoughtfully, “Your fiance was quite a talented fencer before Her Majesty started having him do all those tasks.”

Lizzy blinked in astonishment, struggling to recollect any memories of aforementioned fiance. She couldn’t even picture his face, as sad as it sounded. However, faintly, she recalled that there had been an incident where she and her fiance had gotten separated from the adults for nearly a day. It had been too long ago for her to remember completely, but Lizzy had a feeling that the incident had to do with All Hallow’s Eve. She pursed her lips, annoyed that she couldn’t recall the incident completely. Instead of dwelling on the memory, she instead rose an eyebrow at her aunt (a gesture that surely would have horrified her mother, had Francis been present). “Earl Grey, a fencer?”

“You loved dueling with him when you were younger. You don’t remember?” Rachel asked, slightly surprised. “He’s only a few years older than you, Lizzy. You two used to sneak out to the fencing halls all the time.”

Ah, now she remembered.

Earl Charles Grey had silver-coloured hair, as luxurious and well-maintained as the fancy Midford silverware Lizzy had been so fascinated with in her youth. Unlike the masculinity-obsessed men of the upper class, her fiance had always opted to keep his hair at least chin-length. And his eyes...Lizzy was fairly certain that her fiance’s eyes also had been silver, the color that she had so envied in the past.

But there was more to him than just his looks; she now recalled the many duels they’d held in the past. Although Lizzy had been born with natural talent in the art of fencing, her mother ensured that she constantly honed the skill. She’d wiped out plenty of older men by the time she was five, but Earl Grey had proven quite the challenge.

She won every duel, to her fiance’s consternation (now, she could picture his scowl: Earl Grey always sulked after his defeats), but she still remembered the rush of elation Lizzy felt when she realized that Earl Grey could keep up with her and keep her on her toes. Francis had always been too out of her league, and the others didn't prove much of a challenge. But Earl Grey had always been her best opponent because Lizzy knew that if she made one mistake, she’d lose. He pushed her to fence flawlessly.

Rachel must have read her expression, for her aunt simply smiled and pet Lizzy on the head. “I suppose my words inspired a memory?”

“Several, in fact,” Lizzy answered, laughing and shaking her head in an attempt to dispel the memories. “But anyways, Aunt Rachel, why are you here? I didn’t hear anything about your arrival, otherwise I would’ve been at the foyer greeting you as I arrived.”

“Vincent had some private matters to discuss with your mother, and he figured that it would be easier to come unannounced to stir less of a fuss,” Rachel explained wryly. Compared to earlier, the woman looked much better, her face no longer the pale, frightened shade of before. Instead, there was a sparkle in the woman’s eyes that resembled the vivacity of her aunt in Lizzy’s youth. Once, Edward had let it slip that their aunt had become much more reserved once she found out that she couldn’t have children, and that was why the beautiful woman became withdrawn by the time Lizzy turned four.

Lizzy perked up. “Oh? Would this have to do with the case?”

“You know already that Vincent tries to keep me away from mostly everything,” Rachel sighed, standing up and giving her niece a sad smile. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything. But I’m sure you could try and wring something out of your uncle right now. I believe I should go greet your brother, anyways. Where is Edward?”

“Probably in his room writing a letter to one of his friends,” Lizzy gestured towards her general right and explained, “He’s been keeping a daily correspondence with one of the sons of a duke after he learned that they would be attending Weston College.”

Rachel looked slightly amused. “I see.”

Lizzy’s manners, drilled in her since birth, kicked in. “Pardon me, Aunt Rachel, but I can escort you there,” she offered.

“There’s no need,” Rachel dismissed, “I can see you’re already itching to go and barge in on your mother and uncle’s conversation. Go on.”

Slightly embarrassed, Lizzy curtsied. Then, a bright grin on her face, she blurted out, “ _ThanksAuntieIloveyoubye_!” before rushing out the door.

* * *

 

“Mother! Uncle Vincent!” Lizzy slammed open the doors to the study, ready to beg the two Phantomhives to allow her to assist in investigating the latest case. Dramatically, she flipped her hair and declared, “I want to be on the Jack the Ripper case!”

... _oooor_ , that’s how it would have gone if Lizzy’s state of utter elation had not been interrupted.

Instead, she bumped into someone. “Who...oh, Paula!” Lizzy beamed at her attendant. “Did you have a nice vacation?”

“I did, thank you for asking, my Lady,” Paula responded politely, returning her charge’s beam with one of her own. She folded her hands and curtsied, her face illuminated with relief. “It’s so nice to see you looking cheerful, Lady Elizabeth. I was afraid to leave you when you were looking so dreary.”

“I was a bit _bored_ before, but that’s all resolved now,” Lizzy corrected, folding her arms over her chest. Paula immediately looked suspicious, but Lizzy barrelled on, “Unfortunately, right now I need to go talk to my mother. It’ll only take up to an hour or so, so feel free to refresh yourself, Paula. It looks as if you rushed over here as soon as your vacation was over; please take care of yourself.”

“As always, my Lady is too kind,” Paula replied ruefully, shaking her head. “But what exactly must you talk about with your mother?”

“I’ll tell you if it works out!” Lizzy beamed at her servant once more, then rushed past her before the brown haired woman could stop her. “Bye, Paula!”

Her footsteps pounded down the hallway. Then, abruptly, Lizzy realized how much noise she was making and immediately flushed. She put her mother’s training to good use, quieting the sound of her footsteps by stepping toe-first. Slowly, her passionate gallop slowed into careful, poised strides. Lizzy passed by several servants in the hallways, sending each of them a smile and a tiny bow of acknowledgment before hurrying on.

Finally, she stood before the door the study. Faintly, she could hear the voices of her mother and uncle.

“—too sudden, Vincent.”

“The Queen’s been meaning for the two to work together for awhile now, dear sister. They’ll just be assisting me in my investigation for now. You know I wouldn’t put Lizzy in harm’s way.”

“Not intentionally, but I know us Phantomhives well enough. You can’t always watch after her, Vincent, and she’s not ready yet.”

“Exactly. You can’t always take care of her either, Francis. Sooner or later, Lizzy will stumble upon something and you know it. It’s better if we guide her now then something unexpected happen in the near future without her having any experience. I can’t always be around, Francis. They almost killed Rachel and I before…”

Lizzy figured she should probably back away and try talking to the two another time, considering the rather serious nature of their conversation. But, before she could, the doors swung open.

“And what do we have here?” Uncle Vincent rose an eyebrow, trying his best to look infuriated as Lizzy’s mother standing beside him. The smirk on his face belied his amusement at the situation. Uncle Vincent was undoubtedly a handsome man: his sharp features, much like her mother’s, accentuated his well-kept black-hair and poised stature. He was undoubtedly in his “Watchdog mode”, as Lizzy had dubbed it.

Although Vincent was an extremely courteous and kind man both publically and privately, when discussing serious business, he acted much more confident and almost disarmingly manipulative. Vincent rarely exposed her to such a side, but Lizzy supposed this was one of those rare times.

“Good afternoon Uncle, Mother,” Lizzy greeted nervously, curtsying for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past day. “Aunt Rachel stopped by and told me that you two were talking.”

The two Phantomhive siblings exchanged looks, mentally communicating something that Lizzy couldn’t quite grasp. She was sort of envious: Edward and her still had a long way to go before they could even come close to the mutual understanding that her mother and uncle had. “Lizzy,” her mother stepped forward, addressing her. Her eyebrows were slightly wrinkled, an indicator that Francis was a bit stressed out. Francis noticed Lizzy’s scrutinizing, immediately clearing her expression of any signs of anxiety or concern. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop; it’s not proper.”

“Now, now, Francis. Lizzy was just a little curious...” Vincent winced as her mother jabbed him in the arm with her elbow.

“Stay out of this!” Her mother barked before turning back to her. “I taught you better than this.”

“Mother, I couldn’t help but overhear what you and Uncle Vincent were talking about,” Lizzy said rather impatiently. “I would like to help Uncle Vincent with his investigations. I understand that I’m not skilled enough to take over completely, but I would rather start gathering experience early with Uncle Vincent’s guidance.”

The two adults paused, staring at her as if they’d never seen her before. Lizzy shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, but refused to avert her eyes. Looking away would be a show of weakness that she couldn’t afford right now. Finally, the tense atmosphere was broken when her mother spoke up.

“I knew I never should’ve taught you all of this nonsense. You’re too headstrong,” Francis grumbled.

“Just like her mother,” Uncle Vincent muttered under his breath just low enough that only Lizzy could hear him. Then, he smiled at Lizzy. “In Francis-speak, I believe that’s a ‘fine, as long as you don’t get killed’. If you’re willing, Lizzy, you may help me with my latest investigation.”

“Oh yes, please!” Lizzy breathed, wringing her hands nervously. This was the moment she had been training for her entire life. Lizzy had dreamed and dreamed of the day when she could begin helping Uncle Vincent. It was a rather funny thing for a lady of her stature to dream about, but it was certainly more practical than dreaming of marriage. (Of course, Lizzy did have such dreams tucked somewhere in the back of her mind, but Watchdog duties definitely took priority over romance.) “I’d love to!”

Lizzy could imagine the case already. She’d discover a hidden clue, then confront the suspect in a one-on-one battle. Then, of course, she’d triumph and arrest the villain, leaving them for Scotland Yard to bring into custody. She’d never be revered by the public, of course, but Lizzy could take private satisfaction in the fact that she was a heroine living in the shadows. Those epic novels of adventure and cunning were certainly more thrilling than the repetitive romance novels.

“This isn’t a game, Elizabeth,” her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts disapprovingly. It was as if the woman had read her mind. “Or a novel. The duties we have as Phantomhives are extremely taxing and dangerous, and they are not something you can take lightly.”

“I know, Mother.”

“Give the girl a little time to celebrate, Francis,” Vincent pointed out, slinging an arm casually over her mother’s stiffening shoulders. “...besides, I’d rather her act this cheerful rather than how I acted when Mother gave me my first mission.”

“Elizabeth doesn’t understand the severity of our missions, Vincent,” Francis hissed. “This girl—”

“—Mother was a girl, and she made a fine Watchdog—”

“—Claudia Phantomhive was an amazing woman who I can only hope to measure up to someday,” Francis said shortly, her eyes flickering with some kind of undeterminable, passionate emotion. “Mother and Lizzy are different people, Vincent. No matter how proficient Lizzy is with the sword for her age, she’s still a thirteen-years-old girl. You’d never let a child of _yours_ take over at such a young age, would you?”

Immediately, the air cooled about twenty degrees.

Francis realized her mistake immediately, her face twisting with something that resembled regret. “Vincent, I—”

“It’s fine, Francis,” Vincent said tightly. “It’s fine. And you’re right: I never would have let any child of mine dabble in Watchdog business at such a young age on his or her own. But I would have advised them, especially if they had the talent that Lizzy does.”

There was silence once more. “Fine,” Francis said shortly. “But only if the boy accompanies her.”

Lizzy turned to her mother questioningly. “Boy? What boy? Do you mean Edward?”

It was Vincent’s turn to look surprised. “You mean Rachel hasn’t told you already?”

“No…” Lizzy said slowly. “Is it somebody I know?”

“We are talking about your fiance, Elizabeth,” Francis explained shortly. “Your fiance, Earl Charles Grey.”

* * *

 

Earl Charles Grey didn’t look much different from the sullen boy in Lizzy’s memories. His hair and eyes were still that envious shade of silver, and a sheathed sword hung to his side. Her fiance’s hair was even still chin-length, although there was a defiant part of his hair that extended past his shoulders.

But that was where the similarities between him and his past self stopped.

Unlike the boy from Lizzy’s memories, Charles Grey held himself in a much more confident manner. Although he was leaning back lazily into his seat, his shoulders remained firm and broad, unlike the hunched slouch of his youth. An amused half-smirk played on his face, and his eyes danced with some sort of mirth that Lizzy couldn’t quite comprehend; a stark contrast from the perpetual scowl she remembered from their youth.

“It’s been a long time, Lady Midford,” he acknowledged, not bothering to stand up and kiss her hand. Instead, he extended his hand from across the table decked with plates of confections and other goodies. Lizzy stared at the gesture, stupefied for a second, before taking his hand delicately and shaking it.

“So it has,” she replied noncommittally, choosing to not address the rather brazen, American-like gesture. “And please, do call me Lizzy. Lady Midford is my mother.”

“Lady Liz it is,” her fiance decided after a few moments of contemplation. Lizzy’s eyebrow twitched. Her fiance’s brusque nature was somewhat offputting.

In an attempt to remain cordial, Lizzy asked, “And might I refer to you as Charles?”

Charles Grey drew back, looking aghast at the title. “Nah, Charles suits my partner more. All boring and stuffy, that Phipps. Just call me Grey.”

“Earl Grey, then,” Lizzy agreed, reminding herself to maintain her wobbly, strained smile.

“Maa, how boring,” he drawled, fiddling with the saber by his side absentmindedly.

Lizzy’s eyebrow twitched again.

“It’s not like I don’t enjoy your company or anything, dear _fiance_ ,” Earl Grey started, crossing his arms over his chest. Something about the way he emphasized ‘fiance’ rubbed her the wrong way. He continued without notice of her discomfort. “But all Her Majesty informed me was that I should be at the Midford manor today at noontime. Care to share?”

“I suppose you’ll find out soon enough,” Lizzy answered, pursing her lips. She knew that her fiance had been working under the Queen for some while now, but that didn’t excuse his lackadaisical manner of talking. Was this person _really_ the stubborn, hardworking boy from her youth? “For here come my uncle and mother now.”

And in entered her mother and uncle. Both of them cut rather impressive figures, sweeping into the room confidently without glancing at either of them. Lizzy stood up, curtsying silently at her relatives. “Earl Grey,” Francis acknowledged, her hard gaze locking on the silver-haired boy sprawled lazily on the couch disapprovingly. Lizzy was amused to see her fiance straighten up slightly.

“Lady Midford, a pleasure to see you,” he said, standing up and bowing politely. Lizzy’s eyebrow twitched _again_. “I was just catching up with my fiance over here. Lady Elizabeth was just explaining to me that we had something to discuss?” Then, a little more stiffly, he bowed at Vincent. “Earl Phantomhive.”

Vincent returned the greeting with a bow of his own, then his face shifted into a serious one. “Yes, we have plenty to discuss. Please, sit down.”

To Lizzy’s discomfort, she found herself sitting beside Earl Grey on the velvet red couch. Her uncle and mother had taken the two single-person seats, forcing the two to sit next to each other. Lizzy adjusted her dress to ensure that it didn’t skirt above her knees as she sat down, highly aware of Earl Grey’s presence beside her.

“As you two already know, the Queen has been tasking the Head of the Phantomhive with various missions for multiple generations. We’ve commonly been referred to as the ‘Queen’s Watchdog’, and although that title may sound derogatory, do not be ashamed of it. We are upholding the throne and bringing peace and stability to England, and sometimes one must dirty their hands in order to do so,” Vincent explained. “You will undoubtedly hear whispers. People might be afraid of you, or people might revere you. Whatever the case, we must fulfill our duty to the Queen and to England, regardless of how our reputations might suffer.”

“Wait, _wait._ Hold up. Are you saying that Lady Liz—” Here, Earl Grey gestured disbelievingly at Lizzy. “—and I are going to be taking over Watchdog activities _now_ ? I thought it started after she turned eighteen.” ‘ _When we would get married’_ was left unsaid.

Now, Francis was the one explaining. “My brother and I have decided that it is prudent for the two of you to gain experience before then,” she stated solemnly, “You will only be assisting Vincent in his investigations. Her Majesty has already approved and endorsed this arrangement, and she wishes to tell you that you’ll be excused from other duties.”

“This is bullshit.”

None of the other occupants of the room had expected that reaction, judging by their drawn eyebrows and shocked expressions that were quickly masked. Lizzy reminded herself not to laugh. Her mother surely wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.

“Pardon?”

“This is _bullshit_ ,” Charles Grey snarled. “I’m not going to take an absence from my duties when the Queen needs me, especially not to babysit my fiance. I’m _needed_ out there, and I _know_ that you can handle these cases without my help.”

Lizzy bristled, shooting her fiance a venomous glare with vicious anger that she hadn’t even known she had possessed. “ _Excuse you_ ,” she said dangerously. She jabbed a finger at Earl Grey’s chest, not minding the stupefied look that her fiance sent her. “But you will not be _babysitting_ me, thank you very much. I’m quite capable of defending myself, if you still remember all the times I wiped the floor with you in the past. I don’t quite agree with this arrangement either, but Her Majesty has already decided for us. So _deal with it._ ”

 _You arse,_ Lizzy added furiously in her mind.

There was another stunned silence in the room for a moment. Lizzy cringed, waiting for her mother to start berating her.

But, before the woman could, the tension was broken by laughter.

_Laughter._

Slowly, Lizzy’s eyes trailed over towards the source of the laughter sitting to her right. Earl Grey’s entire countenance had shifted from his disgruntled state from earlier, his eyes shining with mirth as he laughed and laughed and _laughed_. Her mother definitely wanted her to apologize, if the sharp glare sent her way was any indication, but Lizzy chose to patiently wait until her fiance’s laughter died down.

“Ahhh, I haven’t laughed like that for awhile,” Earl Grey laughed, wiping a tear out of his eye. Any previous anger in his body had melted away, and Lizzy was left bewildered when he turned his gaze to her. His silver eyes shined with glee. “You’re more entertaining than I thought, dearest fiance.”

“Thank you,” Lizzy said stiffly, unsure of how to respond. “You’re certainly not how I expected you to be, either, Earl Grey.”

“Thanks,” Earl Grey accepted graciously, flipping his hair somewhat arrogantly. Both of the adults looked visibly relieved that the two weren’t fighting anymore. The fact that she could read their body language (they usually were careful enough not to belie their emotions) meant that they were _extremely_ relieved that Lizzy and Earl Grey weren’t at each other’s necks anymore. Was her fiance _that_ essential to her future investigations?

 _Don’t be silly, Lizzy_ , she scolded herself inwardly. _You don’t have any sort of magical butler to do your dirty work for you. You’ll_ need _Earl Grey’s help in order to fulfil your duties as a Watchdog and you know it._

Vincent cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sure that our latest case will be of some interest to you, Earl Grey. Her Majesty has tasked me with unmasking Jack the Ripper.”

“The serial killer?” Earl Grey asked immediately, his silver eyes sharpening as he leaned forward with interest. Lizzy couldn’t help but watch, captivated, as they took upon a calculative glint. His abrupt change in personality was both jarring and fascinating. “What do you know thus far?”

“About as much as the papers are saying,” Vincent admitted, a frown playing upon his face. “The culprit is somebody with extensive medical knowledge, considering the state of the bodies when discovered. He’s quite meticulous in hiding his tracks. I’ve been consulting various sources in an attempt to narrow down the pool of suspects, but my contacts in the Underworld are at a loss as well.”

Lizzy bit her lip, then asked hesitantly, “Do you have any files you can give us? I’d like to look them over.”

Vincent smiled at her, then called, “Tanaka!”

Both Lizzy and her fiance could hardly disguise their surprise as the elderly servant popped out of seemingly nowhere. “Here, master,” Tanaka offered a vanilla colored folder to her uncle, bowing deeply. Vincent sent his servant a nod of thanks before turning back to them while Tanaka slipped out of the room. Taking the offered folder from Vincent’s hands, Lizzy set it down on the table in front of them and unfolded it carefully as Earl Grey scooted closer to read the papers over her shoulder. (Lizzy tried her hardest not to blush; the _indecency_ of that man!)

“Victims are all lower-class females,” Lizzy read, scanning through the various documents for prudent information. A certain tidbit caught her eye: “Activity seems to be centered around the brothels in Whitechapel.”

_Lower class...females..._

For some unearthly reason, Lizzy found herself glancing at her fiance. Earl Grey caught the look, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was thinking along the same lines as she was. Unfortunately, Francis caught the look, too. “Absolutely not,” her mother said sternly, a tone of finality in her words as she glared at her daughter. “I forbid you to. You’re only supposed to be assisting Vincent, not going out to the field yourself.”

“If I can’t be bait, I can at least try gathering information amongst these women to see if there’s any pattern or clues,” Lizzy reasoned. “Uncle Vincent doesn’t have any other female operatives that can do so.”

“ _No_ , Elizabeth. And that’s final.”

“Ah, look at the time!” Vincent said loudly, glancing at the clock. “I think Rachel and I should be going. Come along, Earl Grey, we may leave together.”

Before the boy followed Vincent out of the door, he glanced at Lizzy one last time. The two exchanged glances, a mutual understanding passing between them. Then, the door shut, leaving Lizzy with an irate Francis.

_Oh, drat._

* * *

 

Later that night, Lizzy sent one of the Midford servants (with a rather nice incentive of a guinea) with a message addressed to one Earl Charles Grey. The message was coded with several layers, but if deciphered, held nothing too incriminating. Just a simple: _I’m attending the Hughes’ family ball. Be there._


	2. Her Fiance, Wary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grey and Lizzy are both proactive characters.  
> Who needs a multitalented demon butler when you use the power of logic and Vincent? ;D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grey POV. Alternates between Grey/Lizzy every chapter.  
> I will go down with this ship.

People whispered. Others giggled. And some...well, some outright _stared_ as the herald announced the arrival of one Earl Charles Grey, who hadn’t attended any other parties this season.

There was a reason that he didn’t attend these kind of frivolous occasions too often. Grey loved the music, the atmosphere, and the impending drama that accompanied any ball in England’s upper-class society. However, ever since he was appointed Earl and the knowledge of his duties to the Queen became public, too many young women attempted to approach him at such gatherings. Many were hopeful that, seeing as his father was now dead, Grey would call off the engagement with the Midford family’s daughter.

After all, childhood engagements didn’t always last.

But Charles Grey was tired of shallow girls attempting to advance at him as if he was some prize to be won. Sure, he flirted back with some of the girls, but he never broke the engagement; that was the one shield that he could maintain against the persistent vultures. It certainly wasn’t out of a sense of moral obligation to the Midford family, although that was the reason that most people presumed for his supposed apathy towards the engagement.

Besides, Elizabeth Midford provided plenty more of entertainment than any of the giggling harlots surrounding him. Whether it be because of her eventual role as the Queen’s Watchdog or because of her prowess at the sword, there was something about her that amused Grey.

_Ah, speak of the devil._

Ignoring and pushing past some of the voluptuous women flaunting themselves flashily at him, he spotted golden hair. The Midford family was standing next to the punch bowls, each involved in their own conversation except for his dearest fiance, who lingered to the side somewhat awkwardly. A predatory smile spread across Grey’s face.

_Perfect._

“Midford, care for a dance?” He called, approaching her from behind and placing a hand on her shoulder. Elizabeth flinched under his touch, body tense. She whipped around, but relaxed once she recognized him.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that, Earl.”

“Quick to scare, aren’t you?” The taunt slipped out before he could stop it. Grey’s belligerent personality hardly won him any admirers — he was sure that had it not been for the Queen’s protection, some offended duke or marquess would’ve had his head by now. But instead of glaring at him, his fiance simply rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“No, more like quick to severe your hand had I not recognized you.” Grey eyed her golden hairpin warily, suddenly realizing that the metal was coated with some sort of undeniably harmful substance.

“Well then, good thing you recognized me,” he returned smoothly, recovering from his mild surprise easily. He plastered on a grin that would disarm most ladies. His fiance, unfortunately, seemed rather unaffected. “Although that's a little over the top, even for you.”

Elizabeth eyed him with a somewhat dismissive glance. “Are you unarmed?”

Grey adopted an affronted expression, offended that she’d even insinuate such a notion. “Of course not.” Then, in the blink of an eye, he snatched her hairpin out of her hair, twisted her arms behind her back, pulled her towards him, and held it against her neck. “See?” he asked cheerfully, satisfied in seeing his fiance’s dumbstruck expression. That’d teach her not to underestimate him.

“You’ve made your point,” Elizabeth admitted grudgingly. Grey grinned, releasing his grip on her and returning her hairpin. It matched with her dress, which was a light pastel pink that reminded him of Spring. The color suited her, complimenting her pallor skin tone and ultimately making her look _much_ less ridiculous than the harpies attempting to look older with their scarlet dresses and black petticoats. She peered at him curiously. “But...truly, _are_ you unarmed? I can’t detect anything...”

He sent her a smug smile before revealing a dagger concealed in his sleeve.

She obviously had not detected it, judging by the brief surprise that flashed on her face. “I...you… _how?_ ” She demanded, disbelief coating her words.

“Butler trade secret,” he answered vaguely, amused by the scowl sent his way.

Yes, there was something about Elizabeth Midford’s personality that appealed to him.

Maybe it was how she wore her emotions on her sleeve, a trait that was both her greatest weakness and greatest strength. Or maybe it was how she didn’t drape herself over him and harp about fashion or the like. Or perhaps it was her prowess at the sword; courting a woman who couldn't hold her own was quite boring. And to think that she was only thirteen, too! He couldn’t wait to see how much the girl would change after delving into Watchdog duties.

Would she break under the pressure? Or would she stand firm and strong, just as steadfast as before?

And where would he fit in? Would he support her? Or would he try to tear her down?

Action, entertainment, and puzzles all accompanied being the fiance of this petite girl. Yes, indeed; being Lady Elizabeth’s fiance certainly had its merits. Bowing lowly, he kissed the golden haired girl’s hand, amused by the sudden flush of pink dusting her cheeks.

“Dance with me,” he pronounced breezily, tugging her hand and guiding her to the dance floor. She immediately fell in rhythm with him, albeit a little reluctantly. Feeling her questioning gaze on him, Grey explained, “Your mother is watching. You don’t want her stopping us, now do you?”

His fiance casted a glance at the marchioness and grimaced. “Point taken.” They narrowly avoided bumping into another dancing young couple, and Elizabeth giggled before calling out a rather high-pitched apology. Briefly, she exchanged words with the young couple,  face alight with joy as they traded compliments. Grey observed his fiance’s suddenly vivacious nature with slight interest. Undoubtedly, the girl _could_ act her age when around others, although  she acted much more serious around him and the elder Phantomhives. She turned back to him, offering an apologetic smile and compliment. “You dance rather well.”

“As do you,” he returned evenly. “But let’s not skirt around matters any longer. You want to go into the field.”

“I do,” she proclaimed solemnly.

It was too much of a golden opportunity for him to miss.

“And now, I pronounce us husband and wife,” Grey proclaimed, completely unabashed even under Elizabeth’s exasperated glare. Before she could jab him in the side with her elbow for his histrionics, his grip on her waist and hand tightened. “Now now, Midford, don’t cause a scene.”

“I wasn’t planning to. _You_ , on the other hand…”

“...are absolutely too charming and witty for you to describe?” He finished. “Don’t worry, Lizzy, I get that a lot.”

“That’s Lady _Elizabeth_ to you.”

He couldn’t help it: he snickered again. Grey was always chortling in her presence for one reason or another. “Tricky, tricky,” he chirped, undeterred. “Are you always so cold to men?”

“Only if their conduct annoys me,” she retorted.

“I’m wounded,” he said mournfully, faking an expression of hurt as he drew back. “Do you think so little of me? We used to get along quite well when we were younger.”

Elizabeth looked dubious. “I seem to recall that you locked me in a closet for several hours,” she pointed out skeptically.

“I also seem to recall that you were teasing me about my fear of... _ghosts_ …” Here, Grey couldn’t help but shiver. “...before that.” He also remembered that ever since the incident, his fiance had become just as adverse to the notion of otherworldly spirits as he. Besides, rather than a few minor mishaps, they _had_ gotten along well. He still cherished the stolen times of their youth when they would privately duel in the fencing halls. After his appointment as the Queen’s aide, he hadn’t had enough time to fence with _anyone_ , least of all his fiance.

“Never mind that,” Elizabeth huffed, the faint red blush on her cheeks adorning her face. “There’s an old associate of my uncle that I know can help us. He’s a bit estranged from our family now, but he definitely still knows a lot of things.”

“His name?”

“We call him the Undertaker.”

Grey hummed thoughtfully, his mirth dying down as he twirled her around. “Alright. What time is best for you?”

“I have harpsichord lessons tomorrow half past one,” Lizzy said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I can convince my mother to make an appointment with my dear seamstress.”

“No seminary school for you?”

“Mother thinks they’re useless, which they are,” Elizabeth rolled her eyes in a rather unladylike manner. “They barely teach us anything; both governesses _and_ seminary schools. The only reason we’re taught anything at all is because those French birds would snatch up all of our English gents otherwise.”

“True,” he acknowledged, delighting in her coarse wording. He was finally seeing the blunt, unrefined, and _real_ Elizabeth Midford. Not the giggly girl influenced by adolescent whims, nor the prim and proper Phantomhive heiress she was being groomed to become. “I presume your mother teaches you personally, then?”

“And father,” she confirmed. “Mother had learned plenty alongside Uncle Vincent, but there were things that my father learned in Weston College that were beyond what my grandparents could teach her.”

“Ah, yes,” Grey sighed nostalgically, “Weston College.”

“I heard that you've already graduated?”

“They found I was capable of graduating early,” Grey confirmed smugly. “So they released me into Her Majesty’s service, unwilling to hold back my brilliance.”

“How humble you are,” Elizabeth commented dryly.

“ _The lady doth protest too much, methinks_ ,” Grey quoted, his dancing pace quickening as the music changed. To his satisfaction, his fiance easily matched his pace without any fumbling. They continued to converse as they glided down the floor.

“You read Shakespeare?” She asked, mouth agape.

“You _know_ Shakespeare?” He inquired in a similarly disbelieving tone. Although she was educated in the arts of espionage and the sword, he hadn't really expected literature to be one of his fiance's many interests. Most of the women he knew solely knew _of_ Shakespeare’s works. Even the majority of the men he knew preferred Charles Dicken’s works over the melodramatic and laboriously difficult style of Shakespeare.

She looked mildly offended. “Do I _know_ Shakespeare? I hold his words in the highest regard. _'Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.’_ It’s the same sentiment that Mother has been drilling into me since I was little.”

As they continued to dance, Charles Grey found himself enjoying their candid banter, regardless of the stares and whispers.

Elizabeth Midford was interesting indeed.

* * *

 

The bell to the shop rung as the door swung open. “Good day.”

The brown haired seamstress, who had been hunching over her work, quickly straightened and turned around. Her expression morphed to one of surprise as she recognized the figure one and only Earl Charles Grey.

“Earl Grey!” Nina Hopkins exclaimed, bustling over to the silver haired boy in amazement. She made some kind of dramatic half swoon as she observed him. “Oh my, you’ve grown so much! Look at how tall you are now. I remember when you only reached my knees. Why, you and the little Lady Midford made quite an adorable pair, even though you always ruined my handiwork. But, my lord, why are you here?”

Grey cut her off before she could ramble more. “Ohoho, it’s nice to see such a lovely woman once more, but I’m afraid I’m here for business matters. Is Liz here yet?”

“Lady Elizabeth? I don’t believe so…” The seamstress trailed off as the bell hanging on the door of the shop rang once more.

_Just on time._

Grey couldn’t help but smirk at the girl’s timing. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to run out on me,” he commented lazily, stepping towards her. His silver eyes swept over her figure analytically, and he couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of approval. Much to the seamstress’s growing horror, the blonde had opted for rather drab and shabby looking outfit that suited the environment that they would be delving into.

Elizabeth was wearing a cheap brown cotton frock, no doubt borrowed from one of the Midford servants if its worn condition was any indication. Coupled with heavy leather boots and a rather boyish but practical cap, nobody would have guessed that she was the daughter of an English knight.

 _Well...if it weren’t for her striking hair and eye colours, that is,_ he corrected himself inwardly. Much like himself, his fiance had rather conspicuous features that would stand out amongst the poor. Her state of cleanliness was something that they probably wouldn’t have to sacrifice, but he doubted that her poised and confident aura would help her blend in with the crowd.

“Lady...Lady Elizabeth, what are you _wearing_?” Nina sputtered, scandalized. The fact that the seamstress didn’t start to harangue the blonde’s fashion choices highlighted how dumbstruck she was by the sheer _ugliness_ of such a frock on her subject.

“Good day, Nina,” his fiance greeted. “Do you mind if you give us a few moments?”

As soon as the seamstress nodded and hastily made her way out of the room, Elizabeth addressed him: “I was getting dressed. Haven’t you got anything to change into?”

Ignoring her question, he shrugged off the leather satchel he had been carrying. “First of all, we need to address our hair,” Grey stated, tossing the bag on the table in front of him. A bundle of wigs spilled out of the bag and onto the table. “I got Phipps to lend us some wigs.”

Elizabeth observed the wigs with ill-concealed disgust, commenting, “I’d look dreadfully pale with red hair.”

“It suits your eyes.” That sentence slipped out unintentionally, and he tried to play it off by shrugging neutrally. “And I’d look even worse with red hair. Unless you want to be a brunette.”

“I’ll take it,” Elizabeth said immediately, snatching the chestnut-coloured wig from the table. Grey tried his hardest not to snicker. Again. She raised an eyebrow questioningly at him. “And what will _you_ be doing while I attempt to...gather information?”

“Not sure you can handle things on your own?” Grey teased, delighted by infuriated glare she sent him. It was harder to elicit such reactions from her, now that she had grown somewhat accustomed to his barbs. She opened her mouth, some indignant comeback undoubtedly prepared, but he cut her off. “I’ll be playing at a different angle, so don’t worry. I’ll be around.”

She really _was_ too perceptive. Grey should’ve known better than to mention his rather dubious intentions at all; like her mother, she latched onto any vague responses with the ferocity of a bloodhound. “Meaning?” she questioned.

He felt blood rush to his face as he turned away from her piercing gaze, mumbling something inaudibly under his breath.

“What?”

“...mer…”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparked with understanding, her smirk that definitely looked out of place on her cherubic face growing wider. “ _Whaaat_ was that, Earl?” She sung, drawing closer as Grey continued to simmer. “How cute, to see you blushing like a little schoolboy. I should dress you up in some cute clothes~”

“...stomer…”

“I can’t seem to hear you, Earl.” She cupped a hand over her ear mockingly. “Maybe you should sit down; your voice is quite faint.”

“I’m going to pose as a blasted _customer,_ you happy now?” He finally blurted out, glaring at her viciously. As if a switch had been turned on in him, the rest of his tirade spilled out in a rapid torrent of words. “I’m going to throw away my damn pride as an Englishman and go undercover at the brothels to see if they’ll give me any information because of this stupid case, and Phipps’s been laughing at me about it for the past two days.”

Elizabeth could’ve laughed. He wouldn’t have blamed her. Instead, the only indication of her mirth was a slight twitch of the lips as she closed the distance between them.

“Relax,” his fiance said placatingly, placing a hand on his arm in a reassuring manner. Grey, to his surprise, found himself involuntarily relaxing at her touch. “We’re just scouting for information. You’re not going to be throwing away your virtue for a mission, for pity’s sake.”

“Right, scouting…” Grey mumbled. He happened to glance upwards to see a still dumbstruck Nina. “Not a _word_ about this, do you hear me?” he warned.

“ _Charles Grey_ ,” Elizabeth scolded indignantly, “Nina Hopkins has been making clothes for me— _and you_ , from what I’ve heard—for _years_. She’d no sooner betray us then my brother.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t trust unknown variables.”

“Unknown _variables?”_ Her voice was shrill. “This situation isn’t some kind of mathematical equation, Earl. I trust Nina, and as my ever-so-loyal fiance, you’ll trust _my_ judgment at least, correct?” Elizabeth inquired, folding her hands over her chest as she stared down (or, considering their height difference, up at _)_ her fiance.

Clever girl. If he denied her rhetorical question, he’d appear as a bad fiance; something Grey _definitely_ didn’t need the rumor mill to whisper about. If word got back to the Crown about his unruly demeanor, Queen Victoria would undoubtedly scold him. “Yes,” he acquiesced grudgingly. “I do.”

“Good.” Elizabeth nodded, satisfied. “Now, I’m going to change into this wig while you figure out how to make yourself look like a less distinct noble. Nina, if you don’t mind, can you escort me to your dressing room?”

The seamstress snapped out of her almost disbelieving trance. “Of course,” she stammered. “Right this way, my lady. Is Paula not with you?”

“She’s running a few errands for me right now,” his fiance answered, sending the woman a disarming smile, looping her arms around the seamstress and nodding at Grey. “I have to be back by half past six.”

Grey smirked, arrogance lining his tone. “We’ll get it done by then.”

* * *

 

It turned out that _no,_ they would not gain adequate information about Jack the Ripper within a few mere hours. The prostitutes around Whitechapel were (understandably) wary of strangers, and didn’t offer much other than a few saucy proposals for him to stay the night. Grey scowled, dissatisfied by his findings as he managed to evade the women that had been latching onto his arms a few minutes prior.

Ducking into an alleyway, he made a cursory scan of the area before finally relaxing, his shoulders slumping and usually bright silver eyes dim. “Stupid serial killers,” he grumbled. “So meticulous in not leaving tracks. Stupid women. Too scared to say anything incriminating. It’s not as if Jack the Ripper can monitor them all the time, for Heaven’s sake.”

He had first asked around about several of Scotland Yard’s primary suspects, trying to see if any of the prostitutes had any information that could confirm or indict their alibis (or lack of alibis). Montague John Druitt, Ludwig Schloski, Aaron Kominski — all of them, _nothing_ . (Admittedly, there _had_ been a few juicy tidbits about the so-called ‘Schloski’, but nothing substantial.)

All of those men left nothing incriminating.

_All of those...men..._

Grey paused, a sudden notion that sounded half crazy and half sane coming to him. It was no more than an inkling of a suspicion, but something about the theory resounded in him. _What about...female suspects?_

Elizabeth and her mother obviously proved that females could be capable of murder. There had been several female serial killers in England — Mary Ann Cotton being one of them — and it would also put a whole new perspective to the case. Female prostitutes obviously wouldn’t pay as much attention to women lurking in Whitechapel compared to the stereotypical “burly man” image of a serial killer that they seemed to believe. And nearly all of the victims had their abdomens ripped out…

This was crazy.

But more than that...this made  _sense_.

Grey had to discuss this new theory of his with his fiance right away. No doubt she would have _some_ kind of insight into females of the upper class at least that would be capable to committing such crimes — wasn’t her aunt a doctor? Perhaps Elizabeth could use her aunt’s connections and gather a list of possible medical-related suspects. Scotland Yard had already ruled out most of the local butchers in the area.

Reorganizing his thoughts, Grey nodded decisively before returning to the main street. Silver eyes (he couldn’t disguise those, unfortunately) scanning the street, he recognized the petite figure of his fiance. “Beth!” He called. She didn’t respond, still talking quietly with the woman standing next to her. Grey scowled, unwilling to call too much attention by referring to her as her actual name. ‘Elizabeth’ was quite a popular upper-class name considering their love of Queen Elizabeth, but in the slums they hardly called their children such. He tried some alternative names that might catch her attention. “Liz! Lisbeth! Lizzy!”

Finally, the last one made her glance over at him. Casually, he pulled out his pocketwatch and nodded at her. Their time was nearly up. The woman to her right eyed him warily. Realizing that he should try to minimize the attention they were attracting, Grey strolled over to the pair with an aura of confidence and smugness that the other men around the red light district exuded. “Lizzy,” he purred salaciously, approaching her and smirking at her, eyes alit with barely smothered passion. “Last night was fun, want to go another round?”

If Elizabeth was scandalized by his vulgar insinuations at all, she didn’t show it. “Sorry, I guess I need to go,” she smiled apologetically at the woman, then turned to him. At once, her demeanor shifted. Swaying her hips and fluttering her eyelashes at him, she slowly sashayed over to his side and intertwined her hand in his. “Where to tonight?”

Highly aware of the woman’s still suspicious gaze on them, he said loudly, “My place.” Then, he pulled her closer in a mock action of affection as he whispered, “I have a theory.”

Elizabeth nodded ever so slightly as she allowed him to guide her through the maze of narrow alleyways and sidestreets. She didn’t question his ability to maneuver through the streets, much to his relief. Explaining to her about the Queen’s investigations into opium smuggling would’ve been troublesome.

“It’s just a small inclination, but I think that Jack the Ripper might be female,” Grey said lowly when there was enough distance from them and the red light district.

Elizabeth’s breath hitched. “I didn’t think about that,” she admitted. She looked somewhat embarrassed at her admission. Heaven knows how many times she must’ve been underestimated or overlooked because of her gender. “Do you think Scotland Yard’s overlooked that?”

Grey searched through his memory for a few seconds before answering, “They only had one female suspect, and she’s been ruled clear. They may not have done a thorough investigation of female suspects. We need to investigate further.” He paused. “Hey, didn’t you say you knew a person who could help us?”

“The Undertaker?” Elizabeth bit her lip. “I’m not too sure, now. He’s always been a little eccentric, from what I remember.”

“If he has information, then we should at least try to talk to him,” Grey replied firmly, guiding her along another sidestreet. “Anyways, they should be coming to pick you up from Nina’s in a few minutes. Just say you couldn’t decide on a dress or something.”

“Noted.”

Before either of them could open the door to the shop, Nina herself flung the door open. “Earl Grey, Lady Elizabeth!” she exclaimed, relief trickling into her voice. “Oh, thank the Heavens. I was afraid that something had happened to the two of you.”

“We’re fine, Nina. Thank you.” Elizabeth flashed her a brilliant smile. Grey had to learn how to pull off such an innocent face like that: everyone underestimated those who looked harmless. Unfortunately, his brazenness and confidence leaked into his everyday demeanor; Phipps would always describe his smile as an “impish grin” that undoubtedly indicated he had something up his sleeve. That was one of the reasons Double Charles had abandoned stealth all together— they were far too eccentric individuals to pretend otherwise.

But, Grey supposed that Elizabeth Midford made him try a lot of new things, subterfuge included.

He turned to his fiance. “Your aunt’s a doctor, correct? Can you gather a list of medical suspects while I inquire about some things with Scotland Yard?”

“Will do,” Elizabeth said immediately, nodding. Her expression turned serious. “Also, I was talking with some of the prostitutes. The woman I was talking to was the best friend of our third victim. She said that Stride had been pregnant, and I confirmed that the fourth victim also had been pregnant. I don’t know if that’s relevant, but I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“We’ll pursue that lead as well,” Grey acknowledged, pausing. “I feel like we’re getting somewhere.”

“It’s _something_ ,” Elizabeth agreed.

At that moment, Nina coughed loudly. They both glanced over at the seamstress inquisitively. “Miss Hopkins?”

“Well, it’s just that I didn’t realize that you two were so close, considering how long it’s been…” Nina trailed off abruptly.

“We’re...not?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows creased questioningly.

Nina pointedly glanced downwards. Immediately, once their eyes snapped to where she was staring at, both of them reddened. They both had forgotten about their intertwined hands in their haste to get away from the Whitechapel brothels. With dawning horror and comprehension, they simultaneously yanked their hands back, blushing furiously.

“It’s not—”

“—don’t think—”

“—he was just—”

“—I was just—”

“I get it, I get it,” Nina laughed, and Grey warily noted the mischievous glint in her eyes. Wrapping an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders, she purred, “My lady, if you wanted to have a romantic, clandestine rendezvous with Earl Grey, all you had to do was _tell_ me and I would’ve helped set it up.”

Both nobles turned a furious shade of scarlet.

“We’re not like that,” Grey tried to desperately explain.

“It was strictly business,” Elizabeth agreed, wringing her hands and biting her lip.

“Yes, yes...I see, _business_ is what they call it nowadays...business indeed.” The seamstress wriggled her eyebrows suggestively at Elizabeth, a terribly unladylike action that no respectable young woman should ever do (at least in Grey’s fair opinion). Grey cringed at the insinuation, cheeks still a faint pink. On the other hand, Elizabeth was turning an even brighter shade of red.

“ _Nina_!” Elizabeth squeaked, scandalized.

“Joking, my Lady, I’m joking. Please don’t skewer me with your sword, Earl: I happen to like these clothes.”

“And _I_ happen to like it when people mind their own business,” Grey muttered. Elizabeth sent him sharp, disapproving look, but didn’t rebuke his sentiment.

“I’ll be going now,” he addressed his fiance, tearing off his blonde wig and tossing it dismissively into the leather satchel he had used to carry the wigs earlier. “You may keep the wig or burn it for all I care, but I’d rather not have your mother nagging me about accompanying you on these ‘foolhardy trips’.”

Elizabeth’s lips twitched upwards a little, probably a bit amused at the accurate impression of her mother’s voice coming from Grey’s lips. “Alright. When will we meet again?”

“After _you_ finish the suspect list and _I_ investigate Scotland Yard’s files.” Grey shrugged lazily. “By your leave, my Lady.”

“Oh, how _romantic._ ” Nina _swooned._

“That’s it, I’m out of here,” Grey said brusquely, backing away from the two with one last glare sent at the seamstress. “Lovely chatting with you, but I doubt your attendants would be pleased to see me here with you.”

“Grey!” Elizabeth’s voice halted him in his tracks. Although he didn’t turn around, he paused and tilted his head ever so slightly. “The Undertaker,” she said haltingly, “We agreed to see him.”

He paused ever so thoughtfully, then waved the matter off dismissively. Reaching forward, Grey’s hand enclosed the doorknob. “I’ll call on you soon enough,” he called over his shoulder. Mechanically, he opened the door, stepping outside. “Right now, your only task is investigating the doctors.”

And he shut the door.

Grey sent an invitation to the Midford house inquiring if they would be willing to accompany him to a theatre production. Along with the formal invitation was a small letter addressed to his fiance, the first few lines so disarmingly mundane that writing it almost made him fall asleep.

As expected, Elizabeth’s reply came within a few hours.

 

_Earl Grey,_

_I do ask for you to refrain from using such vulgar language in your letters. My brother happened to glance at the letter and, after observing your coarse diction, demanded to parse it thoroughly. Had it not been for my quick thinking, our plans would have been foiled completely. As you predicted, Mother and Father both declined due to the Queen’s tea party invitation — did you plan that? However, Edward will be accompanying us._

_I daresay we have our work cut out for us, if we go as planned._

_Attached is a list of potential suspects. As you requested, I didn’t rule out anyone and this list is unaltered._

_I await your reply._

_Lady Elizabeth Midford_

 

Her handwriting was just as immaculate and pristine as her language, Grey noted, entertained. Twirling his quill around in his hand, he debated on penning a rather suggestive reply before finally setting his quill down, deciding to not push his luck any further. Rising, he rang the bell to call for one of the servants. Within a few seconds, a servant had appeared at the door of his study.

“My lord?”

“I will be attending a theatre production with my dear fiance and her brother. See to it that my clothes are ready,” Grey ordered, writing a short response on a piece of stationery and sealing it with the Grey crest. Handing the letter to the servant’s awaiting hands, he nodded. “And please have the courier deliver that letter within the hour.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the servant murmured, bowing and exiting the room. Grey waited for the door to close, then pulled out and studied the list of names, occasionally writing notes and cursing his stupid feather pen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take note that Grey and Lizzy are a little different from canon because of their different upbringings -- Lizzy's a lot more self-confident (almost naively so), badass, and logical. Grey's also changed because "ey you're going to be a Phantomhive/Watchdog someday as per your engagement".
> 
> bless ya'll for the kudos :) feel free to leave a review ahahaha


	3. Her Fiance, Terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grey and Lizzy meet the Undertaker.

“—and that’s what we’re doing right now,” Grey finished, hands lazily behind his neck as he walked alongside his similarly silver-haired partner into the amphitheatre. “Got it, Phipps?”

“From what I gathered, you invited me to this theatre production solely to use me as a _distraction_ for Lady Midford’s overprotective brother and escort.”

“Aw, don’t look so sour, Phipps! I wanted to talk to you, too. We hardly even sere each other anymore,” Grey complained. “I don’t understand why Her Majesty assigned me to helping Midford with her Watchdog duties. We’re betrothed, but her inheritance of the role isn’t going to happen until she’s at least seventeen. It’s not as if the Earl Phantomhive is incompetent with his investigations — he certainly doesn’t need our help.”

“It’s more of the principle of the matter,” Phipps corrected, his stern countenance strikingly contrasting with Grey’s frivolous nature. “Besides, we’ve been investigating the same cases in Her Majesty’s name. Now, you’re just a little more involved in the investigations. There should be no reason to question Her Majesty...unless...do you not like your fiance?”

“Midford?” Grey rose an eyebrow. Then, quite pretentiously, he shrugged. “She’s different from most girls her age. Quite an entertaining girl, that Elizabeth.”

“You seem pleased,” Phipps noted. Indeed, Grey _was_ looking rather haughtily satisfied with himself— well, at least more than usual. There was a bounce in the silver haired boy’s step; his smug smirk and confident aura deterred most people from approaching the pair. “You like her?”

Grey paused, then rolled his eyes and responded contemptuously, “She’s just entertainment, Phipps. You _know_ that I’d never leave you all by your lonesome in bachelorhood. Why, without my constant charm and cheer, you’d end up a wrinkled, lonely prune.”

Phipps hummed noncommittally, too used to Grey’s blunt nature to be offended by his comments. Inwardly, he debated on whether or not to reply with the rather astute observation that Charles Grey definitely thought higher of Lady Elizabeth Midford than just “entertainment”. Perhaps his partner wasn’t in love with his fiance (at least, not _yet_ ). But, Phipps could definitely tell that Elizabeth Midford was more than simple “entertainment”. Ultimately, he chose to stay silent. No doubt Grey would throw a fit if he were to voice such thoughts.

“Earl Grey!”

Phipps turned around to spot a blonde girl striding towards them confidently, her emerald green eyes glinting calculatingly. She wore a fair blue dress of what appeared to be taffeta, her golden hair loosely falling to her side in little waves. The clicking sound of her high heels heightened as she drew closer, a sulky looking blonde boy trailing after her. If this was Lady Elizabeth Midford, then Phipps supposed that the older boy following her was her brother.

Contrary to Elizabeth’s cheery countenance, everything about her brother’s belligerent body language screamed that he didn’t want to attend the performance. Or, probably more accurately, he didn’t want his little sister to attend the show.

Grey paused in his footsteps, then turned around. “Lady Elizabeth,” he greeted, eyeing Edward Midford somewhat warily. Phipps found the interaction somewhat bemusing; Grey was hardly the cautious sort, even if the person glaring at him was an infamously-reputed “sister-obsessed” English gentleman. “And Lord Edward, a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Edward returned stiffly, looking as if he was thinking anything but so. There was an awkward pause, then Grey’s fiance broke the tense atmosphere.

“Thank you for inviting us to this play, my lord,” the blonde haired girl said smoothly, smiling at her fiance. Phipps couldn’t help but nod with approval at her attempt to fix the social gaffe; she might not have her mother’s elegant grace yet, but she still held herself in a poised manner that few girls her age could. “And who might your companion be?”

“Ah, this is Phipps,” Grey introduced, throwing away social niceties completely as he patted Phipps several times on the back, the force of his blows nearly making Phipps topple over, had he been a lesser man. “We worked as partners to serve the Queen.”

“Earl Charles Phipps,” he introduced himself, shooting a stern look at an unabashed Grey before bowing deeply at the pair of siblings. “I apologize for my partner’s behavior. Unfortunately, he’s usually like this.”

“ _Oi_ , what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Apology accepted. Don’t worry, I think that we’re quickly becoming accustomed to his...brusque nature,” Elizabeth said rather blithely, frowning at her fiance. “My lord, may I speak with you in private for a minute before we head to our seats?”

“Of course,” Grey accepted, slipping away from his partner’s side (to Phipp’s relief: there was only so much of Grey that he could handle). “Phipps, why don’t you show Lord Edward to his seat?”

“This is highly improper,” Edward interrupted, glaring at the boy standing by his sister’s side. “Lizzy, you—”

“Just for a little bit... _please_ , Edward?” Elizabeth’s pleading, hopeful eyes made the man cave in within seconds.

“Only a few minutes,” Edward acquiesced. Then, he abruptly turned to Grey and _glared_ at him. No, ‘glare’ was probably a euphemism. The look the elder Midford sent Phipp’s partner was cold enough to freeze hell itself; Phipps had never felt as glad about having no betrothed as that moment. Grey looked almost amusingly uncomfortable, his confidence the only reason why he didn’t shrink back like any sane man would’ve under such a gaze. He warned, “And if I hear about any funny business…”

“ _Edward!_ ” His sister squeaked, seemingly unaffected by the ferocity of her brother’s glare. “We’re just _talking_ , for pity’s sake.” Huffing, the blonde turned to Grey and tugged at his sleeve. “Come on,” she muttered, scowling at her brother. “Let’s go. Nice meeting you, Lord Phipps.”

“Likewise,” Phipps acknowledged with a nod.

As the pair strolled away, Grey turned around and sent Edward a smug smirk before turning back to converse with his fiance. Then, when he caught Phipp’s eye, Grey sent him some sort of salute. Phipps’s eyebrows creased together in confusion. Why would he…?

“That cocky little—”

And then Phipps realized that he was stuck with an irritated (no, _furious_ was the right word) Edward Midford that looked ready to bite anybody’s head off.

He’d rather take on a sulky Grey.

 

* * *

 

 

“You did that on purpose,” his fiance accused. Her jade eyes hardened as she glared at Grey with an expression that looked more pouty than angry. Grey couldn’t find her that intimidating. “Did you _have_ to anger Edward?”

“Where’s the fun in exchanging normal pleasantries?” Grey shrugged, his nonchalance enough of an answer for her. Elizabeth groaned, looking as if she was trying her hardest to resist the urge to pinch her nose in annoyance. “Anyways, I had time to pour over the list you sent me and narrowed it down using some of the connections I made serving under Her Majesty. Has your uncle discovered anything new?”

“Not from what I know, but I still...haven’t told him about our investigation…”

“Tell him,” Grey ordered. “It was mainly your mother against us actively participating, anyways. We’ll need his help and connections.”

“Noted. The list?”

Grey handed her the piece of parchment he slipped out of his coat pocket. “I added a few names, and went over possible motivations for a few,” he explained, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Anyways, the Undertaker?”

“Intermission lasts for half an hour, and I’ve already sent a messenger to notify him that we’d visit.” Reading Grey’s expression quite accurately, Elizabeth added, “He won’t help us if I try to interrogate him through a correspondence. The Undertaker’s a particular kind of person that wouldn’t help us unless we visit him in person. Or, at least that’s what I’ve heard from my relatives. Why is your partner here?”

“To distract your brother.” Elizabeth looked mildly horrified that Grey would subject his partner to such a gruesome fate. Grey made no attempt to mollify her. Phipps could handle himself, and Grey certainly wasn’t going to be the person handling the overprotective noble; Edward Midford was a force to be reckoned with when it came to his sister. He might not possess the natural genius of his fiance when it came to fencing, but he certainly was a formidable opponent; anyone of the Phantomhive or Midford line was.

“Here’s our story for our intermission disappearance: you’re feeling sick, and I, being your loving fiance, escort you outside for some fresh air. We lose track of the time, and come back after intermission laughing sheepishly about how pretty the stars are.”

“There _are_ no stars over London,” his fiance deadpanned.

“Details, minuscule _details_ , Midford.”

“One day, that overconfidence of yours will do you in,” Elizabeth predicted, rolling her eyes. “Anyways, Earl, what production will we be watching?”

“Originally, _Lady Windermere’s Fan_ , but I figured that some classic, Elizabethan Shakespeare would appeal to you more. We were discussing _King Lear_ before, no?” Grey watched closely as Elizabeth’s face literally lit up with joy. The emotion completely changed her appearance, her shoulders straightening and eyes sparkling with excitement.

“You remembered,” she breathed, almost glowing with excitement and gratitude as she stared at him with wide doe eyes. Grey suddenly felt uncomfortable at the rather intimate atmosphere, shifting his weight from his right side to his left side in an effort to focus on something else.

Avoiding her gaze and glancing at the ceiling, he grumbled, “How could I forget? You kept blabbing about how your mother wouldn’t let you see it all night while we were dancing. Had I been a lesser man, I assure you that I would’ve been put off by your ardent fervor for Shakespeare. You should really try to restrain yourself from ranting too much about such subjects — if word got back to Marquiess Midford, she’d berate you for—”

“Thank you, Grey.”

He jerked back, head craning to his left to stare at her in complete disbelief. “What?”

“I didn’t know you could be so considerate,” Elizabeth beamed, looking remarkably unaffected by his insinuations about her lack of femininity. _She was always smiling._ Grey still couldn’t comprehend how such a fearsome warrior could smile so genuinely and kindly.

“I’m _always_ considerate, Midford,” he countered, shrugging off his awkwardness and  donning his cloak of confidence with ease. Sniffing haughtily, he swiftly turned around, placing his hands behind his neck lazily. “Now, let’s head back inside before your brother’s convinced that we’ve eloped.”

She nodded, her smile stretching even wider. “Good idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You _cruel_ , cruel woman. I never knew you had it in you, Midford.”

“Your partner will be _fine_. He can handle my brother for a half hour,” Elizabeth dismissed. Although her words were somewhat curt as the carriage continued to jostle the pair, her cheeks were still flushed from excitement and joy. His fiance had enjoyed the play immensely — Grey wasn’t sure if he had met anyone as enthusiastic and immersed in a production as the blonde sitting across from him. “This is highly improper, by the way.”

“You’re of Phantomhive descent. Phantomhives don’t do proper.”

“And my mother?”

“...an anomaly.” Grey winced when Elizabeth swatted at his arm with her fan. Defensively, he rose his arms, sprawling back into the seat. “Joking, joking. Don’t go murdering me, now. We already have one potentially female serial killer on our hands; we certainly don’t need a second.”

“ _Grey!_ ” Elizabeth had the decency to look aghast, although her lips twitched upwards a fraction, belying her amusement. Before the silver haired boy could come up with some kind of witty reply or cheeky comment, the carriage stopped.

“My lord, we’ve arrived.”

“Thank you, Maurice. We should be out soon, so round about the neighborhood and wait for us at the corner of the street,” Grey instructed, stepping out of the carriage. He offered his hand to his fiance, but she was already stepping out of the carriage without his help. “Independent, aren’t you?”

“I supposed that a Phantomhive woman should be able to help herself out of a carriage without a man’s assistance,” Elizabeth returned, her high heels clicking as she walked to the entrance, gesturing for him to follow her lead. Grey smirked striding forward quickly and opening the door to the funeral parlor. She stared at him inquisitively.

“Allow me this one act of chivalry, at least, or your brother will have my head.”

If she had been a male, she probably would’ve snorted. Instead, she rolled her eyes, opening her fan and using it to cover her smile. “You know how to charm the ladies, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he said haughtily, observing the entrance to the funeral parlor somewhat warily for a moment before stepping inside.

The interior of the funeral parlor was fairly spacious, although the floor was littered with coffins that Grey took care to step over. To the sides of the room were shelves with various assortments, but it was too hard to observe them carefully considering the dim lighting of the room. Standing in front of a rich mahogany table was a shadowy figure, his silhouette illuminated by the lit candles at the sides of the room. Every single one of Grey’s instincts screamed for him to escape from this room that smelled like death, but he resisted the temptation. Instead, he glanced over to his fiance.

Elizabeth looked remarkably calm, despite her surroundings. “Undertaker!” She called, beaming. “It’s Lizzy. I told you that my fiance and I would drop by a few days ago.”

A creepy giggle resounded in the room, and Grey realized that must have come from the silhouette. He exchanged glances with Elizabeth, scoffing at her hesitance, before approaching the figure. “Hey, are you going to help us or not?” He asked sourly, hand reaching out to grasp the figure’s shoulder when his jaw suddenly dropped in astonishment. “Wait...this is…”

“Grey?” His eyes were darting back and forth warily, hand inching towards his saber. He couldn’t spot anybody. That voice had come from close by; the source of the giggle couldn’t have been too far away. Elizabeth’s voice cleared away his thoughts. “Grey, what’s wrong?”

“What kind of insult _is_ this?” He blustered, whipping around. Jabbing an accusing finger at the silhouette, he shouted, “It’s a _doll!_ ”

“Doll?” Elizabeth echoed, stepping forward and observing it. Her pale hands trailed the dark fabric, appropriating the texture of what should have been the humanoid figure’s face. “You’re right.” Her lips pursed as she gently flipped the doll around. “That’s strange, I swore I heard someth…”

“ _BOO!”_

“ _AHHHHHHH!”_

In unison, two screams resounded in the room. Later, Grey would claim that the high pitched squeal of terror obviously came from his dainty fiance. Elizabeth, on the other hand, attributed it to Grey.

Stumbling over his feet and grasping onto the mahogany chair to keep himself steady, Grey backed up a few steps before realizing that _no_ , this person was not a ghost and was obviously tangible if his grip on his shoulder was any indication. Elizabeth was in a similar state of disarray, but she recovered more quickly.

“Undertaker!” She beamed, her smile a bit wobbly. “Where did you come from? Heavens, please try to refrain from scaring us like that. I almost beheaded you.”

“Don’t worry about that, my lady.” The silver haired man’s voice was lined with amusement. He had a rich, deep voice; Grey was somewhat reminded of himself as he read the man’s body language and creepy grin. Undoubtedly, like himself, Undertaker liked entertainment. “Decapitation is such an interesting way to die. It’s also very quick.”

Grey scanned the room before realizing, “You came out from one of the coffins, didn’t you?”

Realization dawned Elizabeth’s features just as Undertaker snapped his fingers. “Bingo!”

Grey scowled. “Try that again and I’ll kill you.” He paused, then added, “...slowly.”

Unfortunately, the silver haired man didn’t take the threat to heart. (Well, either that or the Undertaker honestly wasn’t concerned about his death threat, but that was unlikely. Grey was stronger than most Englishmen, even those older than him.) “How entertaining~”

“Undertaker, we’ve come to ask you about the Jack the Ripper case. Can you tell us what you know about the—” Elizabeth’s voice was cut off as he held up a finger.

“I already told dear little Vincent about the organs,” he informed, grin widening. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Miss Elizabeth.”

“You can,” Elizabeth disagreed, eyes glinting. “There’s something you’ve held back from us.”

“Is there?” Undertaker pondered the notion before sending them a mysterious smile. “Maybe there is. But the price for information is very heavy, you know.”

“Name it,” Grey said immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. Elizabeth looked to be of similar resolve.

“Laughter!”

Simultaneously, they deadpanned, “...what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short transition. :) I can officially say that the Jack the Ripper arc will end chapter 5.


	4. Her Fiance, Cautious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watchdog Lizzy , slow sloooooooow character development  
> oh, and the madame red reveal

Earl Grey walked quickly. Mother always used to tell Lizzy that one could tell a lot from a person’s stride, from confidence to patience. Earl Grey stepped hastily, his back slouched and hands shoved in his pockets in a way that could have indicated that he was lazy. However, although his posture was sloppy, it was his eyes that gave him away: they were constantly vigilant, warily darting back and forth calculatingly, searching for any potential enemies in the streets.

Something about his cursory scan of the area must’ve satisfied him, for the silver haired man minisculely relaxed, one of his hands reaching out to twirl her golden hair around his finger. Lizzy twitched, sending him a warning glower, which he promptly ignored.

Defeated, Lizzy sighed and said resignedly, “You never told me what you said to Undertaker to get him to laugh, you know.”

Her fiance sent her an enigmatic smirk. “Butler trade secret,” he sang, playing with her hair as they rounded the corner.

Lizzy scowled, swatting his hand away from her golden locks. “What’s with your obsession with my hair?” As always, Earl Grey held no disposition or regard towards social norms.

“I just a natural inclination towards bright, shiny things.” Earl Grey’s explanation was vague, as usual. “I like your hair down.”

“I’ll make sure to wear it up next time, then.”

“I never knew you to be so petty.”

“I never knew you to be so immature,” she retorted

_“Immature,_ me? Never,” he dismissed dramatically, clutching his hands over his heart. Leering towards her, he cooed, “Now, now Midford. I know that it’s hard to keep your wits when you’re around somebody like me, but _really._ Immature? Was that the best retort you could come up with? Why, you’re beginning to sound like those mundane, dithering fools that stand around all day and gossip.”

Lizzy sent her fiance a dirty look. “I’ll have you know, Earl, that some of those ‘mundane, dithering fools’ are your superiors.”

“Only in title, Midford. Certainly not in intelligence or handsomeness,” her fiance replied with a dramatic flourish of his hand and mock-bow. “You’re walking alongside one of the most handsome bachelors in all of England at the moment.”

“I’m honored,” Lizzy said dryly, exasperation seeping into her voice. Stopping in her tracks, she announced, “We’re here.”

The Undertaker had revealed that most of the corpses he examined (some, he told them, were too mutilated to tell) had multiple incisions indicating a recent surgical abortion.

It made sense; although abortion was illegal, Lizzy knew that there were still plenty of disguised abortion advertisements in the newspapers. Prostitutes especially used abortifacient pills or went to certain doctors for surgery. Both she and her fiance had immediately groaned at their own stupidity and oversight.

“If we could just find _where_ those prostitutes had their abortion,” Lizzy murmured under her breath.

“Nice thought, but we should probably save the investigation for later.” Earl Grey flashed his silver pocket watch at her. Solemnly, he pronounced, “Intermission concluded about half an hour ago. Phipps is going to _kill_ me.”

“No, my _brother_ is going to kill us,” Lizzy corrected gently, wincing at the thought as she stepped into the carriage. “Now come on, let’s hurry.”

* * *

“Uncle,” Lizzy greeted. It was almost _weird_ to be conducting such business without her flamboyant, silver-haired fiance by her side, but Lizzy knew that Earl Grey was busy tracking down potential suspects with their new lead. She had been delegated the task of informing the Queen’s Watchdog of their adventures.

“Lizzy,” Vincent returned, smiling genially at her with the kindness her uncle usually radiated in the presence of company. It was a rare sight, nowadays; most of the time, Lizzy only saw his Watchdog persona. Both her mother and uncle thought it prudent to keep her constantly vigilant and on her guard. “Finnian told me that he thought he saw your carriage.”

At the mention of the blonde haired teenager, Lizzy’s lips involuntarily twitched upwards. During his many trysts as the Queen’s Watchdog, Vincent had picked up a variety of new “servants.” Finnian, or “Finny”, was one such servant, although the exact nature of his past eluded Lizzy. Vincent never revealed confidential, personal information unless she asked for it, and Lizzy certainly had more tact than to pry into somebody else’s past without a reason.

Under Tanaka’s skillful guidance, Finny had become the Phantomhive gardener, watering shrubs and tending to a sunflower patch that stuck out in the midst of traditional English roses and petunias. His cheerful demeanor instantly won over Lizzy, and she’d occasionally stop to chat with the blonde about the flower garden.

“Earl Grey and I have been conducting additional investigations into the Jack the Ripper case.” Lizzy paused, then observed her uncle critically. Something about his expectant expression gave him away. “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“I did,” Vincent confirmed, humming under his breath.

“Let us try to take this case,” Lizzy proposed. “I know you’ve been working on that opium case, correct? Dividing your attention between two tasks is more detrimental than beneficial. We’ve already narrowed down the suspect pool considerably, and soon enough we’ll be able to find our culprit and secure evidence to convict them.”

“You’re thirteen, Lizzy, and Charles Grey isn’t much older than you.” Vincent’s protest was weak, and both of them knew that. If any, it was more for Francis’s sake than either of theirs: they both knew that the female Phantomhive would have a _fit_ if she learned of Lizzy’s direct involvement in the case. Vincent, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms with his niece delving into the unknown.

“We can handle this.” Lizzy’s gaze was unwavering, resolute, _determined._ “We can handle your duties.”

And so Vincent smiled at her. It was that same mysterious half-smile that always bemused and frustrated her to no end, the one enigmatic puzzle she could never decipher. “Then show me.”

* * *

“Earl Grey!”

Lizzy _flew_ into the room, slightly out of breath and cheeks still pink as she stared wide-eyed at her fiance. He was sitting, reclined back in the midnight blue velvet cushions of the Phantomhive parlor, looking as if he had no care in the world. Slowly, his silver eyes met hers, and he gave her a tiny nod. “Midford.”

“Don’t _Midford_ me,” Lizzy snapped, tossing her hair somewhat arrogantly and sitting down. Her fiance’s blunt nature had rubbed off on her, as she immediately got down to business. “You’ve found the suspects, haven’t you?”

Earl Grey paused, his silver eyes swimming with some kind of emotion that Lizzy couldn’t comprehend. It wasn’t like the noble to hesitate, and Lizzy found herself tensing. Forcing her body to relax, she waited for his response. “Correction: I’ve found _a_ suspect and our most probable culprit. But...you won’t like it.”

“Tell me,” Lizzy insisted, and to her surprise, the silver haired boy simply shifted in his seat uncomfortably, gaze turning away from hers. Incensed by his blatant aversion, Lizzy leaned forward and demanded, _“Grey.”_

The lack of his title was enough to make him look up again as he answered, “You won’t like it, Midford. It would’ve been better if I just investigated on my own.” The last part was quiet, nearly inaudible and probably intended for his ears alone. Unfortunately for him, Lizzy always had better hearing than others.

_“On your own_?” She repeated incredulously, her expression turning stormy. The sheer venom in her voice could have made lesser men cower. Earl Grey, to his credit, only cringed minisculely at his social blunder and her tone of voice. Lizzy’s eyes narrowed, hard jade green orbs trained on his silver. It took her only three seconds to contemplate her next course of action before she rose, grabbed her fiance by the scruff of his neck, and jerked him towards the door.

“...Midford?” Her fiance questioned cautiously, undoubtedly wary of the tightening grip over his neck as he stumbled after her.

“You and me. The fencing hall. Now.”

“Midford, I don’t think—”

_“Charles Grey._ We are going to fence, and I am going to prove to you that I am not a useless _burden_ that you need to look after. I am an independent, _useful_ asset to this investigation... _our_ investigation, and you’d better respect that.”

“I _do_ respect you, Midford, but—”

If it were any other case, Lizzy would’ve preened under his praise. But she was a woman on a _mission_ , and if it took beating him within an inch of his life for him to speak freely to her, then so be it. Growling, Lizzy stormed past the startled servants and tossed her fiance into the hall. Earl Grey easily regained his balance, not even falling to the ground as he simply pivoted on his heel to face her. “Midford, what even—”

Her fiance’s demand was cut off as she threw a foil towards him. Almost instinctively, the silver haired man grabbed the weapon before it could clatter on the ground. “Let’s see if you’ve gotten rusty,” Lizzy enunciated clearly, emerald eyes blazing as she prepared herself. “En garde.”

Then, without hesitation, she rushed towards him. Earl Grey barely recovered from his surprise in time to react to her attack, swiping away her blade and darting back a few steps. “Scared?” She challenged, exhilaration rushing through her veins.

There was a spark of the bravado Lizzy was used to in his eyes, now. “Hardly,” he returned, a cocky smirk spreading across his face. Dashing forward, he thrusted his sword outwards. His agility left Lizzy with no time to think; it was her instincts that saved her. Parrying had become second nature to her after years and years of training with Francis.

The clinking sound of metal against metal echoed in the hall as they began working themselves into a rhythm: attack, parry, dodge, counter. It took all of Lizzy’s skill and instincts to keep up with her fiance’s overwhelmingly fast assault, but she kept pace.

Earl Grey was laughing again. “You’re better than I remembered, Midford!” he called, his footsteps feathery light as he avoided a particularly fierce jab that would have hit his chest.

“You’ve exceeded my expectations as well,” Lizzy replied somewhat reluctantly, parrying his strike and returning with one of her own.

“Aw, come on, Midford. You sound like a stuffy governess.” The silver haired man dodged another one of her attacks with seemingly nonchalance. The sweat lining his forehead belied him, though: he was putting just as much effort into maintaining their rapid pace as she was. “Lighten up! There’s nobody but us in these halls.”

“A lady must always be proper,” Lizzy recited her mother’s words, dancing past his attack. Twirling around, she tried to hit him with a strike of her own.

“And what of the fencing?”

“An exception.”

“The espionage?”

“An exception.”

“The poison?”

Lizzy couldn’t help the small smile that stretched across her face. “Also an exception.”

Earl Grey looked immensely satisfied at the grin on her face. “Finally,” he said with semi relief, “I was beginning to think that working with your mother and uncle all day made you lose your pretty smile.”

Lizzy was almost thrown off rhythm by that comment. _Almost._ ‘Pretty smile’, really? “I never knew you to use such petty distraction tactics,” she scolded, ducking under an attack and rolling on the floor before returning to her feet. “What kind of English gentleman are you?”

“All’s fair in love and war.” Earl Grey smirked, tilting his head and avoiding her attack. “And it’s not a petty distraction, Midford. It’s the truth. Your smile’s pretty.”  
Lizzy stumbled. It was sheer luck that she rose her foil just high enough to parry her fiance’s next strike.

“Honestly, are you going to be like this _every time_ an enemy compliments your fair appearance, Midford?” Earl Grey’s ridiculing tone shook her out of her stupor.

She retorted, “I’m only this way because of your nonchalant disposition towards giving compliments. Do you do this with every girl you speak to?”

“Fencing? I daresay not, Midford. Most girls I meet prefer dancing, and that’s rather boring, don’t you think?” Her fiance parried another strike. “You’re the only one I speak to like this.”

“Blunt, coarse, and unrefined?”

“Genuine, straightforward, and as an equal,” her fiance corrected. Something in her stomach fluttered. “You’re a talented fencer.” Earl Grey never flattered people for the sake of flattering them; he was always _truthful._ Sometimes unwelcomingly truthful, but still truthful. Her face warmed, but she didn’t allow herself to be distracted. Earl Grey, on the other hand, had loosened his defensive stance while speaking to her; he was open.

This was her chance. “Then tell me what you found out,” Lizzy demanded, strength surging into her as she spun around, contorting her body into a ‘u’ shape, backflipping, and ducking beneath her fiance’s swordhand, blade reaching forward. Voice breathless, she whispered, “Point.”

They stayed in that position for a moment, his arms nearly wrapped around her and her blade against his chest. Then, both of them relaxed, drawing back. “As expected, I still can’t beat you,” her fiance said ruefully, offering a hand. “Nice match.”

“You excel in other areas that I don’t.” Lizzy shrugged modestly, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. Her petite, pale hands were almost completely engulfed by his; it was a stark reminder of how time had changed them. Before, she had been the same height and stature as the silver haired noble. Her voice turned almost pleading. “But Grey…”

Her fiance studied her for a moment. His gaze seemed to almost pierce her very soul, and she reminded herself not to squirm under his scrutiny. Finally, he acquiesced to her demand, shoulders sagging. “I was tracking down any disguised abortion notices I could find at first, but then I realized that some might still be in circulation around Whitechapel. I headed back there to investigate and talked with some of the girls. They were reluctant, of course, but I insisted I had a girl who needed ‘assistance’ myself.”

“Go on,” Lizzy urged.

He rose his head, meeting her gaze levelly. “Annie Shepherman, Mary Ann Nichols, Mary Jane Kelly **...** they all had something in common. At Royal London Hospital, Doctor Angelina Dallas operated on them.”

Lizzy hardly breathed, her heart thudding loudly in her chest. _Madame Red. Angelina Dallas._

_Auntie Anne._

Grey sealed the nail on the coffin. “...and, with further investigation, I discovered that they were murdered in the same order as her surgery list.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shortest chapter ever lol but  
> i still love these dorks and this au  
> watchdog lizzy still gives me life  
> lizzy and grey as badass partners gives me life


	5. Her Fiance, Shaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing the Jack the Ripper arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's, uh, been awhile since I've written my otp ahaha  
> oops?

“Midford.”

“We need to catch her red-handed,” Elizabeth said absentmindedly, fingers drumming rhythmically on the desk. “Perhaps we can set a trap by luring her with another prostitute.”

“Midford.”

“Or maybe we should try to see who’s next on her list and confront her then.”

“Elizabeth.”

“Or maybe we could confront her directly…”

 _“Lizzy._ ” Finally, the blonde looked up from her reverie.

“Charles,” she acknowledged, the usage of his first name sending a thrill down Grey’s spine. Being the gentleman he was, Grey ignored the sensation, instead narrowing his eyes and staring down at his fiance. Her face was still pale, and she was trembling.

“You’re not going to break down on me, are you?” he asked suspiciously. Her lips pulled upwards into a small smile as she caught his meaning. _Are you alright?_

Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, but no words could come out. Her smile abruptly froze on her face. “I’m...I’m…” A tremor shook through her body, and Grey felt a wave of panic threaten to overwhelm him as he darted forward, grasping her shoulder. His knee-jerk reaction shocked both her and himself, but Grey refused to let his shock deter him.

“Midford,” he said firmly, urgently. Her watery green eyes slowly matched his gaze. “You know, when I first met you, I thought that such a tiny girl could never handle the Watchdog’s cases. I thought that you were weak, and that you would break under the pressure.”

That must’ve broken something inside her. The girl burst into tears, blurting out, “I _am!_ I am weak, I _am_ breaking under the pressure. I overestimated myself, and now I’m not sure that I can do this. I’m too weak...”

She began rocking on her heels, grief and _shame_ written in every minute detail of her expression. It was jarring to see her— Elizabeth Midford, the genius daughter of Francis and Alex Midford — in tears. She proved the impossible to be possible.

“No, you’re _not,”_ Grey insisted fiercely. Grey had never been one to mince words. “You proved me wrong. That very first day we met, tiny little Elizabeth Midford challenged me to a fencing match and _won_. And, if that wasn’t enough salt to rub into my wound, she also beat me in a battle of wits.”

“One chess match doesn’t count as much of a battle,” she hiccuped, but something about his words sparked a fire in her eyes. “Uncle Vincent beats me all the time.”

“But you kept proving me wrong. And even now, you’re still proving me wrong. You, Elizabeth Midford, are _strong.”_

“Am I?” she whispered.

“Stop doubting yourself,” Grey snapped. “If you are, you _are._ And you know I never lie, Midford.”

She stilled, then a tiny giggle slipped out of her mouth. That small giggle turned into boisterous laughter, tears running down her cheeks _(from sadness or amusement, he couldn’t tell_ ). Her laugh sounded like twinkling bells, filling the empty room.

Grey, for one horror-struck moment, thought he might have driven his fiance mad. “Sorry,” she giggled, wiping a tear away. Emerald eyes shining with determination, she smiled at him. “You’re right.”

Wiping his dumbfounded look away, Grey turned away haughtily, cheeks burning. “Of course I’m right.”

“Thank you, Grey.”

“Just don’t go breaking down on me again,” Grey commanded gruffly. “Your brother will behead me.”

“And we can’t have that now, can we?”

“Of course not.” Grey drew back, scandalized. “My face deserves better than decapitation.”

The two stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

And, for a moment, it felt as if nothing was wrong with the world.

.

.

“The next name on her list is Lisbeth Strider. I’ve tracked both Strider and the next name, Catherine Beddow, down and arranged a meeting with them,” Grey droned, tossing the leather journal he was holding up and down in the air. His fiance rolled her eyes, snatching the journal out of his hand and flipping the pages open. Inside was Grey’s messy scrawl denoting several dates, alibis, and profiles.

She scanned the pages, eyes darting left and right calculatingly. Grey waited in patience for her response. Finally, his patience was rewarded with a thoughtful glance upwards and a question. “Do you think Madame Red has any accomplices?”

Grey paused, contemplating the idea. His fiance was constantly surprising him. Finally, after ruminating through his thoughts, he replied, “Every victim died the same way, but we shouldn’t rule out that possibility.”

“We need to catch her red-handed.” Elizabeth set down the journal, determined. “I’ve informed Uncle Vincent of our discovery. He said that he’d allot some ‘resources’ to us and to expect them later today. With his support, we can pull off this.”

“And what is this ‘this’ you speak of?”

“Why, Grey, I thought you would’ve already figured it out,” Elizabeth said semi-mockingly, twirling around. Eyes glinting with anticipation, she grinned at him. “I’m changing my name to Lisbeth.”

.

.

.

“This is a horrible idea.”

“On the contrary, Earl, I’d say it’s a _brilliant_ idea.” Elizabeth smiled sunnily at him, slowly descending down the stairs into the foyer. “Now, try to act a little more confident in our plan, will you? We’re about to meet some of Uncle Vincent’s associates and should try to make a good first impression.”

“Still a horrible idea,” Grey mumbled under his breath. Louder, he voiced, “You’re mad, Midford. Completely mad.”

“Speak for yourself,” his fiance retorted.

“You’re posing as a _prostitute_ who we suspect is the next target of a successfully elusive serial killer unarmed.”

“I have my hairpins,” Elizabeth pointed out, affronted.

“Against their knife? Sword? Gun? Although the latter is unlikely, I doubt your pretty little hairpins can parry every blow.”

His fiance turned to him, sending him a sunny smile. “That’s why you’re here though, right?”

Grey almost stumbled, but regained his composure remarkably well. Had it not been for the stiffening of his shoulders, his fiance probably wouldn’t have caught how startled he was at the statement. “Are you _not_ planning on saving me should I be threatened by a ‘successfully elusive serial killer?’” The blonde asked humorously. “My, my, earl. I thought you better than that. Leaving a dainty lady to fend for herself, how _dreadful.”_

“You’re hardly dainty. Or a lady, for that matter,” Grey pointed out, dodging her punch aimed for his shoulder. “ _Easy_ there, Midford. Dainty lady, right?”

The blonde girl scowled. “Go die.”

“After you.”

Their delightful banter was interrupted by someone clearing their throat awkwardly. Immediately, both nobles glanced upwards. Grey recognized the figure of his fiance’s brunette attendant immediately; the servant often delivered them tea, and Elizabeth frequently struck up conversations with the mousy woman that’d distract her from discussing their case.

“Earl Grey, my lady.” The attendant _(Violet, or perhaps Paulina or something?_ ) curtsied politely. “Earl Phantomhive’s associates have arrived. We’ve escorted them to the parlor; they’re waiting for you two.”

“Thank you, Paula,” his fiance replied smoothly, bowing her head ever so slightly before nodding at Grey. “We’re already late, but let’s try to salvage our reputations.”

“Will do.” Grey matched her pace easily, following the brunette servant as she led them to an ornate mahogany door, bowed hastily, and scurried away. There were already voices inside: loud, boisterous ones that sounded much too carefree for associates of the grim Phantomhive household. Grey paused, assessing the voices and noting their particular pitch, intonations, and accents. Oriental, Yorkshire, and some posh sophisticated accent that screamed upper class. Grey suddenly realized that they hadn’t gotten any confirmation that these people were really Vincent Phantomhive’s associates; immediately, he was on his guard.

His fiance, on the other hand, held no such qualms in entering the room. “On the behalf of both my fiance and I, I humbly apologize for being late,” she announced, silencing the room as she strode confidently.

That was so _Lizzy._ Grey couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he trailed after her, observing the room.

An Oriental man, probably Chinese, sat on the couch beside a woman with similar Asian features. Neither looked phased at Grey and Elizabeth’s abrupt arrival, their eyes almost apathetically focused on the pair as if judging their worthiness. To their right stood a blonde man with cold, sharp blue eyes who simply scowled at them. And finally, to the left was a blonde aristocrat who Grey had the unfortunate “honor” to meet in the past: Aleister Chamber, better known as the Viscount of Druitt.

“ _Ahh,_ it can not be!” The viscount exclaimed dramatically, flamboyantly throwing his hands in the air as he gazed at Elizabeth and Grey with mournfully, teary eyes that made both uncomfortable. “Why, you two are nothing more than sweet, innocent childr—”

_Shing._

“May I execute him?” Grey asked, turning to his fiance and ignoring the man’s wide-eyed look due to having a sword to his neck.

“I would agree, but the blood would ruin the furniture,” Elizabeth said dryly, turning to the group. “My name, as you all know, is Elizabeth Midford. As the Aristocrats of Evil, you three—”

“Four, actually,” the Asian man interrupted cheerfully. Petting his companion’s hair almost exactly how one did a cat, he explained, “Ran Mao, here, is my assistant.”

“—are privy to my identity,” Elizabeth finished, nonplussed by the interruption. “Although the papers will eventually say that Earl Grey is the head of the Phantomhive household, I will be playing an active role in all of these investigations. As far as you all are concerned, Grey and I are both essential parts of Watchdog duties. Although we won’t be completely taking over Watchdog duties as of yet, Earl Phantomhive has found it prudent to have us introduced to the Underworld slowly. As we will eventually be interacting with all of you more in the future, Earl Phantomhive wants us to establish a rapport—”

“Earl Phantomhive this, Earl Phantomhive that,” the blonde man interrupted rudely, glaring at her. “Listen, kid, we don’t defer to _children_ . I don’t know what Vincent was thinking, having _you_ two take over Watchdog duties.”

“Is there a problem with having us as your superiors?” Grey sneered, unable to keep the derision from leaking into his voice.

 _“Grey,”_ his fiance hissed under her breath.

“Yeah, in fact, there _is_ a problem with that.”

“Now, now.” Grey was suddenly blinded as a mane of golden hair interrupted his glaring contest with the snobby Aristocrat of Evil. “We’re a _team_ , aren’t we? And above that, we are English _gentlemen_. Let us not fight in such a beauty’s presence! This golden rose, too pure for our foul world of darkness, has chosen to sacrifice herself for the greater good—”

“Stay out of this, Druitt,” Grey snapped. The viscount visibly withered.

“Looks like you’re trying to compensate for something, _boy_.”

 _“Really._ Boy: creative insult, haven’t heard that one before,” Grey snorted. “God, even _Midford_ comes up with better insults than you.”

_“Hey!”_

“You really want to lose to me, huh,” the blonde growled.

“Not really. I intend on winning.”

 _“Please._  With your girly hairdo—”

 _“Enough!”_ Elizabeth barked, her eyes flashing with not only irritation but _anger._ Her voice sounded remarkably like her mother’s. “Both of you idiotic lot are driving me mad with your schoolboy insults. We’re here to discuss a Watchdog case that I intend on solving. In order to do so, we’ll need your help. Therefore, _please,_ Grey…”

“Yes, _Grey,”_ the aristocrat mocked.

“You shut up, too!” Elizabeth snapped. Funnily enough, the blonde haired man snapped his jaw shut, looking fairly chastised. “For God’s sake, if you’re going to call somebody a child, don’t act like one yourself. I thought the Aristocrats of Evil would be better than this. You’re all so goddamn _childish.”_

The Asian man coughed.

“Except for you, Lau,” Elizabeth amended. Grey raised an eyebrow, which she caught. “Uncle Vincent just sent me their files. I looked them over right before your arrival.” Jabbing a thumb at the Oriental man, she stated, “Lau. Opium dealer. Granted amnesty because of his monopoly over the ports, useful for information. Supposedly useless in hand-to-hand combat, but his assistant Ran Mao makes up for it.”

This time, she pointed at the man Grey was arguing with. “Azzurro Vanel, Italian mafia member and drug dealer. The only reason Earl Phantomhive hasn’t thrown you out yet is because of your connections to international crime. You use dirty tactics to subdue your opponents. You’re rather pathetically self-centered.”

Finally, at Viscount Druitt: “Viscount Druitt, underground auctioneer of humans and overall pain in the ass. Since you bribed yourself out of jail, Earl Phantomhive decided to put you to good use, at least, with your various cult connections.”

Grey rose an eyebrow at this, somewhat disbelieving that the overzealous and superfluous noble could have _any_ such underground connections. The blonde nobleman had fallen silent, a contrite expression on his face as he sulkily crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re about to engage with Jack the Ripper,” his fiance announced nonchalantly. “I’m going undercover. None of you, except perhaps Vanel, can offer much physical support. However, we’d appreciate it if Lau spreads the word of _Lisbeth Strider’s_ whereabouts. The purpose of this meeting was mainly to establish a friendly, amiable relationship with you all. Expect that we’ll contact you in the future.”

“Spoken like a true Phantomhive,” Grey muttered under his breath, not admirably but not condescendingly either.

“Should something go wrong...” Here, his fiance grimaced, “Uncle Vincent has the files he needs to succeed. That is all.”

.

.

“I find it funny that I’m constantly degrading myself when around you, Midford,” Grey murmured, linking arms with her as they strolled through the dimly lit cobblestone street. After Grey’s insistence, they had decided to forgo the original plan of having his fiance walk on the streets by herself with Grey a short distance away. Hopefully, the killer would get desperate enough to approach the pair together; all Grey knew was that Edward would _kill_ him if his sister came back with even a scratch. “The common folk must think horrible things of me, considering how often I’ve visited this area.”

“Trust me, Grey, you didn’t have much of a reputation to lose,” _Lisbeth_ retorted, still smiling prettily at him to keep up pretenses. “This is the fourth night in a row without any action. Maybe we were wrong about the target…”

As if the fates decided to prove her wrong, at that very moment Grey felt something whoosh past them at an incredible speed. The street lamps flickered eerily before going out completely, leaving the street in utter and complete darkness. Grabbing his partner and literally swinging her around to avoid being hit, Grey drew his sword and squinted, eyes attempting to adjust to the sudden darkness.

_Red._

Lots of red.

“Oh, _my_ ~” The figure gushed, approaching them with a malicious cackle. “I usually don’t kill pretty men like you, but you’ve been hanging around our little lady too long.”

“That’s not Madame Red,” Elizabeth informed cautiously, snatching her swords from Grey’s belt without decoration.

Grey’s instincts were screaming at him to be wary; his body was unnaturally stiff as he scanned their opponent from head to toe. “Be on your guard.”

Unfortunately, the reminder came a second too late for Grey himself. Grey cursed, clutching his shoulder and gritting through his teeth. His world exploded with pain, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand as he whipped around and saw a woman standing behind them with a still smoking pistol in her hands.

The other red-clad figure giggled mockingly. “Angelina, Angelina…” they sang, “What did I tell you about being hasty? We just want the girl, remember? Don’t shoot just yet.”

“Shut up, Grell. This one’s mine.” The woman’s lips curled downwards in disgust, undoubtedly not recognizing her niece nor Grey with their disguises. “Filthy.”

“Auntie Anne,” Elizabeth gasped under her breath, eyes flitting between ‘Grell’ and her aunt. Her face seemed to crumble, but Grey had no time to dawdle and concern himself with her emotions because Madame Red was darting forward with a knife and her pistol.

She was definitely no match for Grey’s years of experience, but the gunshot wound slowed him down enough for her to nick him on the cheek. Normally, Grey would’ve made some comment about how _interesting_ his fiance’s relatives were, but he was distracted by the sound of a machine whirring.

Someone shoved him aside before the weapon slashed him in half. “Chainsaw,” Elizabeth pronounced urgently, dragging Grey to the left. Madame Red scoffed, mumbling something like _“weak.”_ He shook himself out of his stupor; now was _not_ the time to start acting like a damsel in distress. Prying off his fiance’s grip, he gave her a nod, a smirk crawling on his features.

“Let’s show them how _weak_ we are,” he sneered.

Both of them launched forward without warning, making a beeline towards Grell. He was clearly the larger threat. Grey hardly took a second to slice off part of Madame Red’s gun, feeling a savage pleasure at the woman’s stunned expression before dodging her swipe. “And so the show begins,” Grey sang, leaping forward and stopping Grell from cutting his fiance’s arm off. “Don’t touch her,” he warned pleasantly, agilely dodging the criminal’s attack.

Then they began their battle, dodging and lunging, striking blow after blow on the cobblestone road but never hitting their opponent. Grey found himself sweating; this _Grell_ was powerful, agile, and didn’t shown any signs of fatigue. His fiance was busy dealing with her wayward aunt to help him with his monstrously strong opponent. It took Grey all of his skill to _keep up_ , much less wound the scarlet haired figure. He wasn’t counting on an accomplice of this caliber, _damn it._

Sometime during their sword fight, the clanking sound of Elizabeth’s sword stopped.

An inhale, a _gasp._ _“Lizzy?_ ”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as his fiance showed no hesitation in using the side of her sword to knock her aunt unconscious. Her expression was disturbingly calm, and Grey wondered what kind of storm was bubbling underneath her stony mask. His distraction was almost a fatal mistake; Grey’s instincts were the only thing that saved him when he stumbled away from another attack.

“Why…” Grey breathed heavily, panting and glaring at his opponent. “...aren’t you tired yet?”

 _Damn it, why was he so_ weak _in comparison to this stranger?_

“You’re not at my level yet, _boy,”_ Grell returned, golden eyes glinting. Something akin to disappointment or boredom flickered in them.

“But he’s not alone.”

Elizabeth’s sword impaled the criminal in the shoulder, her pistol raised to the criminal’s head. “Surrender and you may live,” she demanded.

Grell’s body froze completely. Then, to their surprise, the scarlet-haired figure _laughed._  Loudly. The very sound sent shivers down Grey’s spine. “Sorry, darling, but it’ll take you a few more centuries before you can defeat me. It’s quite disappointing that Angelina didn’t kill you two, though. Being bested by two brats, how _boring.”_ And, even with his fiance’s sword impaling Grell’s shoulder, Grell grinned at them and lunged.

Instinctively, Grey surged forward with his weapon, but Grell was fast.

 _Inhumanely fast,_ and that was why the silver haired noble had barely any time to process that the red haired figure dashed past them before Madame Red’s prone body was stabbed.

Blood oozed from her chest, little rivulets trickling through cracks in the cobblestone. The blood stained her scarlet clothes an even deeper shade of red, blossoming into a twisted, grotesque flower. Grell stood over her body with an almost amused expression, red cape billowing in the cold winter wind.

The image had a macabre beauty to it.

Grey’s mind raced with possibilities of escape. They were outmatched, _damn it,_ and he knew they couldn’t win. He had to get them out before they were taken out.

Elizabeth was frozen.

Then, a sob retched out of her throat. “Auntie? _Aunt Anne!”_

Grey grabbed her before she could dash over to her aunt’s body and risk decapitation by a cackling Grell.

“Who are you?” Grey demanded, grip on his fiance involuntarily tightening. He’d seen plenty of things under the Queen’s command, some more _unnatural_ than others, but Grey was used to ridding England of pesky murderers. This person, however, was _different._

 _“What_ are you?”

“You don’t see it yet?” Grell giggled, twirling around to face him fully, hand still gripping onto their chainsaw. “Why, I’m a Reaper.”

As if on cue, _something_ burst out of the woman’s chest. Grey tensed, prepared to face any kind of otherworldly foe Grell might throw at them. Instead, however, Grey paused; what _were_ those?  Even as that question ran through his mind, he already knew what they were:

_Memories._

Angelina Dallas and Rachel Phantomhive.

Vincent Phantomhive.

Her husband.

Her child.

 _Lizzy_.

Elizabeth watched it all silently. Grey, on the other hand, warily kept an eye on the Reaper.

The record finally ended with a few shots of pitch-black darkness.

Everything was silent.

“How could you?” His fiance asked. Her eyes hardened, gaze _furious_ as she screamed, “How _could you?_ ”

“Midford,” Grey tried, but even though he had an advantage over her physically, his fiance had always been more agile. Twisting her body, she freed herself from his grip and lunged at the Reaper. He cursed, his grasp on his sword tightening as he dashed forward. “Damn it, Midford!”

Grell continued to laugh, even as Elizabeth slashed her second sword at him.

They probably would’ve been butchered if the situation continued where it was heading. But _(thankfully)_ , fate had other plans.

It happened so fast that Grey only saw the aftermath: Grell on the ground with a primly dressed man standing on their face. “Pardon me for interrupting your conversation,” the man droned. “I am William T. Spears of the Dispatch Management Division of the Reapers. I’m here to collect Dispatch member Grell Sutcliff for breaking the rules.”

 _“William!_ ” Grell whined, but the other... _Reaper_ simply crushed the redhead’s face in the dirt. Grey tried not to cherish the sight. He failed. Stepping on smug enemies was one of the most delightful feelings in the world, as petty as it might sound.

“Dispatch member Grell Sutcliff, you have broken several rules. Firstly, you have killed people whose names are not listed on the Death List,” William listed. “Secondly, you also used your scythe without permission and even modified it without following proper procedures. Please return to the main branch to submit your reflection letter and report.”

_Reflection letter...and...report?_

“I hate to interrupt,” Grey drawled. “But who the hell are you two?”

William hardly spared them a glance. “Forget about this, humans. We have no business with you.”

Elizabeth’s gaze was cold, but her voice was alit with fury. “Your companion just killed my aunt.”

“Grell Sutcliffe will be disciplined accordingly.”

Elizabeth bristled, her grip on her sabre tightening.

Grey reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Midford.”

She knew as well as he did that they couldn’t measure up to the pair of Reapers. It was goddamn _frustrating,_ but true: both of them knew they couldn’t do anything hasty.

“Say, I’ll tell you what—ow, William! Stop!” Grell whined. “Hey~ I just wanted to offer them some advice, William!”

“Nobody needs your advice,” replied the ridiculously level-headed man.

Grey gritted his teeth, pulling Elizabeth by the arm (and conveniently ignoring all proper social etiquette in the process) and dragging her backwards. “We’re getting out of here, Midford.”

Her gaze snapped to him. “But—”

Grey was uncompromising. “No buts. We’re outclassed.” He spat out the words like venom. “Come on, let’s move.”

“...understood.”

“Stay out of our affairs, humans!” Grell called after them. “Unless you find a hand~some~ boy! Then feel free to seek me ou—ow, ow, William!”

They didn’t stop running until they were at least fifteen blocks away and heaving for breath. “Grey…” His fiance’s voice was wrought with a myriad of emotions: grief, embarrassment, anger, frustration…

His tone mirrored hers. “I know.”

That night, and the funeral afterwards, served as a grim wakeup call for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter can also be called  
> "humans are so goddamn outclassed by otherworldly kuro characters"  
> or  
> "ciel had deux ex machina sebastian on his side but greylizzy only have each other rip"
> 
> Feel free to drop a review <3

**Author's Note:**

> Grey and Lizzy are literally the hope of humanity ahaha. In a world of badass Reapers, demons, and angels, they bring me hope.


End file.
